Hey, Jess(i)e!

I am afraid.

It is a pale thing, 

for a dark body.

There are little particles 

of dried skin on my 

elbows and hips and knees

that are so white

he could only ever know 

their color with his mouth

open. Gaping. Pink tongue

lolling out, bright teeth made

brighter with whatever gene

braids strands of soft color

together.

I am no longer apprehensive.

That takes the weight 

out of the fear,

maybe. 

No longer apprehensive 

at the thought of 

sex.

Only his. 

He holds my heart 

in his big hands, 

nails long gone

unclipped. They make

soft, squishing indents 

where they dig in.