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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