insulated

if i could live in the bubble, i would. if i could keep your presence, your need, your smell of woodsmoke and sex around me like a shawl, i would. it's a dance of the seventy-five-thousand veils, every day with you, little pieces revealed slowly in the firelight. three slick lines on my thigh that glistened with blood. do you know my skin well enough to know if they will fade, and when?

sometimes you are a playmate to run screaming and giddy circles with. sometimes you are a god i find, to my horror, suddenly in my presence and needing sacrifice. and sometimes you are an adversary.