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Rose Water

by Anna Suarez

"You stained the couch," he whispers in my ear, as we collapse back into the bed.

I crave the stains, the drops of rain, the burst from the fountains, the blend of both seas and the river of tears. His vast ship releases the current and the only thing I feel is the excruciating pleasure of the fullness. He has conquered my waters, but I sink his ship in the uproar of waves crashing.

He is the ship. He is the saltwater in the sea. I am the river, coalescing with his waters to moisten the Earth with our nepenthe. I cannot locate the mouth of the shore. All that exists is the fullness.

The fullness...and the flood.

He had broken my heart—he just returned to me, after months of traveling, drinking, sleeping in tents and fucking. When he was gone, I wore all black. I drank wine and kissed in clubs. I felt the flow of water on unfamiliar bodies and my body, drenched in rose oil, rebelled.

There is no other sea more majestic than your sea.

The sea you have birthed with me.

I’ll cleanse myself of the resentment with your sweat...with your sweat on my sweat. I am baptized in every part of you. Every grotesque droplet—the drool on my neck, the longest droplet of saliva moistening me—leaving me suspended until your entrance.

We cum all over the couch that we moved into my apartment together. I stain the couch. He sips the remnants of ecstasy from my thighs—kissing the bruises he left me.

The second climax arrives. The holiest cum. I sit on the toilet and cry, staring at my legs. I spread the tears across my face. Pressing my hand against my abdomen, I anticipate the elegant white droplets painting a fog against the light yellow in the toilet. I have to push my body to release, and—when I release—all of my fluids fall from me. There is you, there is me, there is the piss, the tears, the sadness, the ecstasy and the fears. The flow of pee, entwining with our flood, propagates my tears.

He is here. He is home with me. He has made his choice. I wipe the front to the back, feeling the swelling of my clitoris from his caress, to the pillow of my labia, holding him. The toilet paper is soaked with the unrecognizable cocktail of our pleasure. Pushing against my abdomen once again, I listen to the last drops of rain.

In the toilet, I see my reflection. I see the waters he has captured me with. I see the entanglement of our bodies. Where I end and where he begins is unrecognizable. My pee, my tears and his rain provide a lifetime of sweet water to precede agony with warmth.

Urine and cum, I am stuck to you. I would bottle us in a mason jar and bury it. We would last a lifetime.

On the toilet is where I realize I love you.