Lost at sea

At night he smells of testosterone,

and it’s the call of a submissive

to a dominant that brings him to my bed.

It’s because I’m more sand than glass

and always end up washed away by my own sadness.

But he’s beautiful

like coloured bottles left on the beach

that will one day come back to shore

creating a mosaic,

while I’m still leaving scars

on anyone who comes too close.