Sleep was palpitating
on your mouth
as I saw this vulture
circling our driveway
on my way to grab the mail
this morning.
Your three gray freckles
on your nose that make
the opposite of a triangle
keep fucking taunting me
like a piece of stale meat
that won’t come out
of my teeth.
I still snort when I laugh
at the thought that you
almost gave me a cat tattoo
on my shoulder.
Middle finger on a table, posing,
she’s bent over, and I can’t stop
licking your vodka limes
because they taste
like your twisted thighs,
but you show a lot of gum
when you smile and
that never quite sat right with me.
My pulp is still lingering
under your fingernails, but
I kissed your best friend
three months ago
at your birthday party;
he wiped my velvet teddy lipstick
off his chin, clean.
My stains won’t wash out
because he rolled up his sleeves,
waved you down,
looked right inside my temples,
looked right at me.
I like the way he looks right
through me.
Genres: Relationships, Insecurities, Maturation
WILDsound Writing Festival 