did the sun say that
womanhood was a
glowing death?
combing eyelash hairs,
fallen and glued to tear
trails, mixed with morning
blush, coral and dewy,
setting spray didn't keep
her feelings matte and stable.
you grow and grow,
stories told of mistakes
and midnight margins,
double step on the wrong
pothole and you crumble
like the one before.
ma said,
"take caution in
those who find chaos
in relaxation."
bitter fruit, I am
eve's lilith of pain.
I met mari down south
before her hands went
down east.
pretty, very vivid in
her caramel curls and
honeysuckle dwellings.
cantu and dime rubbing
coins together, she made
me her first pain of pleasure.
but I do not aim to please,
to touch and burn false
moans and motivation.
I am to make myself the
center of pleasure.
hands of confusion,
my champagne of star fruit,
rubbed inside the thighs and
sticky from many fingertips.
mari and I stumbled on
broken concrete,
voice shaky when the rise
of the high came and washed
after the storm.
she was my first,
but I'll always be my last.
she's my amor, delicate
branch on a willow tree,
swinging and almost breaking,
hurt and needs redemption in
her pride.
she's my pothole,
bumped and swerved.
