My Girlfriend Hates Bathing Suits and Pajamas, But I Just Want to Kiss Her Face

She wears a leather jacket to beach day and work boots laced up tight to bed at night. Since we started dating, I've only touched the thin skin of her naked jawline. Her naked elbows and the soft backs of her knees call to me beneath her clothes. Please, take off your scuba mask, I plead, but she insists she must be ready for anything. She is an explorer, and adventure could strike at any moment. Like, if an earthquake shook us awake at three a.m., her boots are strapped on. She is set to run, prepared for the ceiling to fall on our heads. Or, if swimming in the ocean, a great white nudged its nose to my girlfriend's navel in aquatic affection or sudden attack, that silly jacket would shield her from shark teeth. But with all that defensive gear, my love misses the flotsam and jetsam gathering behind her, algae and kelp trailing from her mask, the heavy rubble she tracks to bed in the cracks of her boot soles. What use is gear or swimwear that wears her down? You would snorkel better without that coat, I say. And you would sleep soundly in pjs. She scoffs, I've always lived this way. But I want to touch her. I'm no shark. I'm no disaster. I just love her. We could be an adventure. Please, will you take off that damn mask? But she buttons up her leather and paddles out to sea, as I sit on the shore, watching my lonely voyager collect more and more debris.