I’m falling in love with myself. I looked in the mirror this morning and for some reason, the way my waist curves inward intrigued me. I couldn’t keep my hands off my ass. My own warm touch left a dew between my thighs. I wanted to trace my tongue against my collarbone. Today I don’t mind that my breasts aren’t perfectly symmetrical or that my lips aren’t as plump as I’d like. I found beauty in me and that alone made my day.
one of the many west village blocks i fell in love with. west indian nannies pushing rosy-cheeked fair-skinned babies in strollers everywhere i turned stuck out in my mind for days following.
a beautiful, hidden courtyard that looked as if it was plucked right out of france.
there was a man standing close by with a sign that read, “tell me your story.” he had such inviting eyes among a crowd of those that seemed not to notice him. i regret not stopping to acknowledge his efforts.