He kisses these shoulders like this skin is unmarked,
like these lips have never spoke bad or caused hard,
like this body has not been abused at times,
like these eyes are a stranger to darkness.
He kisses these shoulders like the weight of the world isn’t balancing on them,
like my faults and flaws are painted on a canvas elsewhere but not here,
like everything is just right right here.
He kisses these shoulders and this body becomes art –
a testimony to the beautiful mess that I am.
Written in 2017 ©