his shoulders are broad, and his heart is open wide, hands strong and gentle.
he hauls bales of hay, herds the cattle, plants in the garden, paints stranger's fences, trims trees, feeds his puppies, all in the 100 degree humidity of the mexican gulf.
sometimes i wonder what it's like to have a heart so full that it callouses your hands, sweat dripping down your back from carrying its weight in your chest.
there are splinters and tears in his eyes; he forgot to wear his mask while trimming the trees. he's showing so much without his mask, in fact, that i can see just how much he's pushing. pushing, pushing, pushing, to be happy, to smile. and it's working. i can see it in the bulge of his biceps.
it's a wonder he's able to smile. what with his father at the mercy of the bottle when he was 5, to the monstrous manicured hands ripping away his innocence at 10, to his brother at the mercy of his tourniqueted arm now and (what seems like) forever.
his smile is the one thing that seems to keep me going. my smile is the one thing that seems to keep him going.
thick eyebrows and brown skin, he calls himself my little (not little literally; all the farm work has him sculpted like a god, a mexican god) brown (how could he not be? he works in the sun from sun up till afternoon. he glistens) boy from texas (well, born in mexico, raised in texas, same difference). my little brown boy from texas. mi morenito, i call him.
come down to texas, he says. come run away with me, we can have our own farm, our own vegetable garden, our own pastures, he says, just like you want.
they're always greener with him.
/
his body makes my heart race. his heart makes my tummy feel funny. his voice makes my cheeks hurt. he's a hymn that can't get any holier; his hands anoint me and my waist divinely. seedlings sprout from my hips, where he's planted a full garden of stevia with the pinch of his fingertips.
how do i know? well, he has the most prominent sweet tooth, and his mouth is latched on. he leaves rosy sugary teeth marks next to my stretch marks. and for this, between my legs is a gift for him: a tulip (his favorite flower, he's told me) that blooms when only he waters it. i'm watered abundantly.
// i haven't written anything in
almost four months, so here's
something i wrote to stretch
my writing muscles again. a little
thing about my absolutely amazing,
wonderful, magnificent boyfriend,
hope u enjoyed 😚
