Sea Urchin

his nose, a lump, 

illuminated in the moonlight. 

a face carved from rock, 

rests next to mine.  

we lay in the wet grass,

the cold night sky our blanket, 

the holes in its stitching 

growing in the passing hour, 

i shiver. 

uncomfortable, 

clothed in nothing, 

but naivety and wonder.   

I let him touch me.  

his calloused hand,

a sea urchin, 

crawling across my bare skin, 

leaving goosebumps 

that he cannot see through the dark.  

i let him touch me,

knowing my power rests in the space

between his unbidden fingers, 

and my pale brest.  

“Can we kiss?” 

“No” 

so we kiss. 

so the sea urchin finds its way 

to my lips, 

to my mouth.  

i swallow down a throat, 

no longer mine. 

the sea urchin curls up 

in my stomach, 

the only warm place it can find 

on a cold night. 

sea urchins taste slimy and sour, 

long after you wash your mouth out. 

i swallow 

again and again,

wash 

again and again, 

because sea urchins 

go down easier than loneliness.