love in the age of measles

It’s just a little bit of skin, 

nothing you can toss around 

or even lick,

I am all stature,

small feet,

you’ll have to bend down 

to get to me.

I smell of rotten peach, 

incense, 

majesty,

without a throne 

who am I to preach?

I don’t eat meat, 

but climb on top

I twist around,

and count my calories,

carry my passport 

and speak good english 

because

i’d only return back to my country

with a plane ticket bought 

drunkenly with my husband next to me

reminding me 

how he’d love to sleep

under the same stars

i’d look at

with my child myopic eyes

how he’d love to fuck me near

an active crater

and how nowhere is safe

unless

it’s on each others chests

and nothing is forever

we both know

that bittersweet romanticizing is the only way

we can make

anything last 

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