I can't find my mascara or the ir-
on to ease the creases from my jumper.
The girl with golden hair waits; I wonder
as she crowns my head with flowers, tucks them
high behind my ears. My skin blushes
in thanks to the sun as we defrost
our bellies with black tea and french toast.
I see a man, his feet bare and his ru-
ined jeans rolled up to the knee. I find the
sand between his toes and the salt on his
lips; he sees more than I would usually
allow. I cross my fingers tight, hopeful
he missed it, but I feel his grasp behind
my eyes, catching sight of the bruises.