The Saltwater Woman

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.

 

 

Salt; Sugar

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