Drabble #63 – our lips, darling,
they're so disarming
There are times when you look at me like my body is unlike your
own, like I hold secrets in my chest that you want to discover,
like the color of my eyes is entirely new to you, like my hands
and my arms and my waist are all a thing of beauty and should
be worshipped and studied and appreciated. When you do, my
stomach makes knots and I feel almost ill with it, like
I’ve handed you my insides and asked you to take care of
them. You keep taking my promises, cradling them to your chest,
and I never see them again. You smile, too many teeth, all of
them sharp, and I am not afraid. It should hurt, probably. But
maybe I’m immune.
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