Sun-dried it was, with freckles and pimples each individual size and cause
Mixed with strange colors from the blue UV
A canvas for sweat, where I’d sleep, drink and eat
The surface I treat like a marble dream I walked upon without slipping
Like those shoulders I gripped when you made me feel little
And I begged you for more
Was I cinnamon to you, not perfect all the time like her
The vanilla that she is, pure and classic
She is the real porcelain inside and out while I am ceramic
My cracks don’t show at all, then all at once
But the scariest part is that I haven’t fallen yet, I live on
And you’re on the other fucking side