Snow White Takes South Beach

It’s not sin. No boy could love the ghosted moon-pale skin I’m in, but I’ve got new flesh under this. I strip to bra & slip & let the noon sun touch me any way it wants. It’s the better burn I’m after, my shins & thighs shocked pink & slick as a hog

roasting on a spit. I want hands on me. I’ve been an out-of-favor princess long enough to learn that anyone’s will do. The sun-stroked skin blanches white beneath my palms, heat-sick and spent. I’d be a fool to hope my long-lost prince could see the beauty

blooming beneath my rosy blistered skin. That’s fine. I’ll make the world again myself.