To B., At Some Unspoken Age
I've grown a belly now, a little pot that cannot stop. Craters on my thighs depress me. Pale skin surrounding my centre glows like the moon; no sunlight has blessed or caressed what I've never exposed to anyone but you.
In blissful moods, my body sings like sea foam hugging the shore; in misty phases, it reverberates like blubber. Tonight, I'd have no trouble floating along fate lines scored against your palm.
Oh, how I used to go down! A spluttering, wretched girl, full of salty spite. You taught me to breathe on every fourth stroke.
No hindrance of curfews for us here, my dear - so few curves left before the cliff. I dream you cast me one that I can grasp, though no-longer nimble fingers have finally learned letting go.
Still, if you have a stake, come make your claim.
Through loss and through gain,