she holds her face
raw against the faucet
water. cold and bright

then stinging on sun
burnt cheeks. “exfoliating
isn’t for the weak” she yells

from her bubbly mouth.
he laughs at her state of
being – bent over, bra

half-strapped, hazel 
eyes tightly clenched
hair strands caught 

in between the rub
of her long fingers

she is so perfect,
he thinks,
it’s a shame she cannot see it.