This mass is a map
This mass is a map
body like braille
stretch marks sing survival
surrender written in scars
search this sacred skin
where stranger’s hands once tried to trace
tried to contour these curves
but fumbled—
failed, too frail
full of exit strategies.
This body, not for the weak
not for the meek.
I've become a locked door
but with you, I succumb.
You hold every key
enter with access—
unlocked and unafraid
defeated by devotion
holding on to what others dreamed of
do not shatter and slip away.
