Thursday, August 27, 2009


Fish-lips chapped and pursed

covered in my mother’s lipstick-

the shade they discontinued that

differed from the color of my father’s collars

suck the marrow from my spine

as I wince and writhe,

pleasure centers making hollow homes

in my collarbones for masochistic lovers

Curled toes that hug the end of wooden

diving boards, poised and solemn

perched on the pressure of knowing you

were given more choices than your parents were

Bubbles prick the surface of a syrup coated pond

dappled shades of honey-wheat

a trench coat cover for four years of

planning on American Beauty that didn’t end in a bang

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