I sit beside the naive woman too infatuated to see the storm beneath his eyes as
she pins me to
sweltering humidity
smoke-ridden skies
sleepy farmlands.
To disapproving tongues
and wandering eyes undressing my thick American thighs
without consent.
To aging book paged hands with grime caked beneath fingernails
pinching my cheeks
too hard.
To blood bound strangers that smile at me through rear view mirrors
speaking in distant native tongues
To borrowed tastes
burning the back of my throat on the way down
turning my skin feverish.
I sit beside the naive woman
on the plane back as
tears of grief and relief intermingle.