Gold Skin and Grease Stained Hands

I’m standing here in a bikini that costs more than my first car, looking like some kind of golden idol under this relentless sun. But if you look closer at the curve of my hip or the way I hold my breath against the tide, you'll see it ain't about luxury—it's about survival.
Back in the city, Leo is probably scrubbing engine oil off his knuckles with a coarse rag that smells like old tobacco and hard work. He’s an ordinary man who fixes things people think are broken beyond repair. When my own spirit had snapped under the weight of glass offices and silent dinners, he didn't give me poetry; he gave me this trip—a ticket to nowhere special just so I could remember how it feels to be wet, warm, and alive.
I can still feel his calloused palms on my skin from last night, a rough tenderness that tells me exactly where I belong. He’s not here right now, but he's in every drop of salt water hitting my ankles. My body is gold today because it reflects the light he brought back into my life.
I wade deeper into the blue, letting the ocean swallow my secrets and wash away the city dust. When I return to him with sand between my toes and a heart that finally beats in time again, I’ll show him this glow—not from the swimsuit or the sun, but from being loved by someone who knows exactly how to mend what's broken.

Editor: Street-side Poet