Today, I will indulge in eye contact— Cavernous, sepia, soft (despite any hatred)
I get jabbed into sewing our names into a sandcastle on the shore of some beach by my motel in Maui,
telling the tide I could listen to him shift in his sheets and snore without missing music—
The one hundred sixty-seven and nineteen cents I’d spent
on a lavish perfume, showered in it, he should still smell on his skin—
I only got through half the bottle and she now sits contentedly on a shelf, scared to be opened.
I’d let myself plunge into the first few weeks I could barely remember you, giggling about analogy of the autonomy of how your hair twisted the same way.
In spite of that, regardless of my search, I can’t seem to spoil you with the simplicity of comparison.
Comb my hair with your hands, bite my lip with your sharp teeth. My eyes twinkle. I touch the arch of your nose, trace muscles on your back, abrade
a trail that leads back to us.
– M.R. Bessac
M.R. Bessac is a writer from Hawaii and Texas. When not writing, she does track and field as a junior in high school. Her poems have been selected for Editor’s Choice in Teen Ink. She enjoys vanilla perfume and Liquid IV.