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come lie with me

I like when we lounge in my bed, and you set your head between my thighs.  I like feeling the weight of your chin as you let your head rest on my pubic bone. I like the rough touch of the pads of your fingers as they press lightly onto my soft belly.  I like the tickle of your mouth as you pepper small kisses on the white marks that line my inner thighs. I like not speaking, communicating instead by running my fingers through your already unruly hair.  I like that I lay with a vulnerable piece of me open, yet you look up at me doe eyed. I like that you lay in a place familiar with acts of violence, acts of pleasure, acts of shame, acts of desperation, acts all intended to create intimacy. But instead of doing what is familiar, you choose to rest, to observe, to simply be close.
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growing pains

Today as I made chai, I purposefully let the milk overflow onto the stove. I stood there staring as the escaped milk burned and fused onto the glass cooktop. The sour, charred smell filled my kitchen as the pot with the bits of remaining tea continued to hiss loudly. This time I stare intently at the tea leaves swirling in the foaming milk, but when I first learned to make chai I would turn away to do homework or watch TV believing I could catch the exact moment when the milk would rise just to the brim of our chai pot, but not overflow. Yet mysteriously I always seemed to catch it just a bit too late. My dad had the chore of cleaning the black milk stains off our stove. He would scrub and scrub, chiding me for not being careful enough again. I feel like I've been having growing pains, but I'm not getting any taller. Instead it feels like my ears are straining, as old voices lose their tone and soften. Like listening to a shitty SoundCloud remix where you can't remember if ...
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Location: Seattle, WA, USA
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