ritual
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.
4 thoughts on "ritual"
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Completely beautiful!
She is so perfect, beautiful poem!
<3
Gorgeous!