California

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He is more backwards than the ocean’s wash and he’s made up of more fault lines than California. He moves the ground beneath my feet and although I am shaking from the grinding of our tectonic plates against one another, he does not frighten me. Our aftershock tends to send others running, and I love it.

He tells the sun to beat down on my skin and the salt of his water to leave me dry. Nevertheless, I have decided to settle somewhere along his coast. Still, he keeps shifting.

Please stay, it’s incredibly hot and your shade keeps me cool.

Sleeping with dogs

There is another woman in your bed and I imagine she is me. Although, she hardly looks like me. Does not sound or feel like me. Does not scream, sleep, or smoke like me. Her wrists and ankles tied to yours are softer. Her legs and thighs spread for you are warmer. Her tongue talks in twists and it just tastes sweeter.

You told me that you prefer her because she does not scatter like I do. She is not separate, sensitized, and severed. She has never asked you to pull out. She cums as your hips slide into hers because,

unlike me,

she does not have to share.

Real women sacrifice

We drank a lot of tequila the night we met, I remember that. 

And I remember his black mask, the way it wrapped around his lips to his nose and ears. Wrongfully, it covered something so beautiful and I saw his skin underneath begin to lose its’ sparkle. Like, champagne popped and left open, or rain that pours over wildfire. I tried to show him his skin, and how it reminded me of oak wood. Sand. Coffee made with cream. Soil, loam, dirt mixed in puddles of rain and mud. Maybe even sticky, dark honey. I prayed to God, “help him take it off, help him remove his mask, help him love the face You gave him.” But, despite my prayers, I watched him rust like old metal. 

Still, I am trying.

I really am trying.

I am trying to see what lies underneath. Oh God, I love and cannot leave him. I am only a child, but I do not fear Your faithless men, anymore. I have learned to love through all the layers of my own bleeding heart, with mercy, guide me to force that hard lesson. I promise, I will hold his face, his skin, who he is and who he longs to be. I will set my own judgement down, because whatever he believes he has, he does not. It is not contagious. 

Please, take off your mask. 

Your skin 

is 

so 

beautiful.