I have always been just a little too
sweet for my own good,
a little bit too nice,
all chocolate eyes and caramel skin,
it’s as if my body has been bathed in rosewater
I almost don’t blame them for wanting
to drink the honey on my lips,
but the thing about being a sweet girl
is that sooner or later
they will all want a taste.
They shouldn’t have been surprised
when my tolerance tore into
a torrent of foaming waters,
when I began to feel the ocean
running in my veins,
the sugar in my body becoming salt –
after all, every river runs
into the sea eventually.
Something about this seems
to terrify them,
I suppose they prefer their women
sweet and simple
with skin of nectar and ambrosia mouths
but darling, this is what a
real woman looks like:
dressed in water
wearing seaweed necklaces
all whirlpool eyes and seashell smiles
salt knitted into the tide of her bloodstream.
I am dancing with the currents in my veins,
waves in my throat swelling to crescendos,
ocean winds billowing in my lungs –
you can even hear the sea swooning
in the conch shell cavern of my chest
if you listen closely enough.
Don’t mistake the salt on my lips
for sugar, darling – because I think may
I have more seawater in me than blood.