I like the way his arms pull me tight
when I resist and want to fight.
when the toxic night wears thin
into the amber morning light.
And his arms caress my waist, my arms, my legs.
And his words whisper, lips blister cheeks,
his eyes beg.
And I feel myself wanted, for those moments that stretch long.
I feel that I’m important,
oh, how delicious- to be loved.
She was working on a puzzle when I walked up to ask her for her name. Her lips moved and I only saw the blush of her cheeks, the gold glint in her hair. “Melissa,” she smiled up at me through her bangs. “My name is Melissa.” She looked back down and her fingers flew over the puzzle pieces. Blues, reds, greens- all ambiguous pieces, mixed with the burnt yellow of the grassy area she was bending over. I looked down at her shoes. They were the color of moonlight- a dirty light blue. I glanced all around me and inhaled deeply. The field was alive with life- with insects buzzing past my nose, the sweet, faint scent of rose bushes just inches from our place in the field. I looked at the asphalt, where Tammy and Richie were playing with a basketball, pushing each other away from the hoops, and suddenly, I was glad I’d found this beautiful creature with plastic glasses and moonshine shoes. Even at 12, I could see she was going to be beautiful, so beautiful. I bent down and peered up at her face, smiled, pushed a strand of black hair away from my face. “I’m Linda. Nice to meet you.”