Despicere

Just because he despises the way he is, she doesn’t have to despise herself.
Just because this is she and always will be she.
Just because today there’s nothing else she can say…

 

If she could wake up with
His hand lazily sleeping
Over the nest of her left breast
What else could she ask
Except for
The rush of their playful sun
Dancing with perky shades
On a retro armoire

What else could she ask
Except for
The brush against
Bougainvillea walls
The gasp of stretched chords

What else could she ask for?

Perhaps then
She would dream
a little less
or
a little more. 

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