Dear Summer Selena,
you're too good for that.
put down that beer.
pick your clothes up off the floor.
he doesn't know
your valleys and hollows
or the way
you smile to yourself
when the sun
kisses your milky skin.
you know better.
step away
before his touch
burns across your flesh
and intoxicates you;
the smell of alcohol
and sex
hanging off your bones.
you deserve more
than his locust kiss
across your plains
and fields.
he will let you
dress in shame
and leave
without offering
those nourishing words
that you crave.
you are just
a body
to him.
and when
he is through
you will be
fallow.