my throat is dry and i keep coming back to the blue dress. somewhere along the line i stopped talking in feelings, replacing them with 'facts'. i think of all the non-sexual ways i've made love. one day it will be my own heart that destroys me. the bigger heart. the metaphorical heart. skin holds the low roar of a lifetime's worth of small victories and defeats. memories of myself stretched wide opened daring the world to bring it on. i still open the doors to let the sunlight shine straight through. other times the rain quietly kisses my eyelids and whispers "you are welcome".