les pauvres cœurs


Tuesday, December 29, 2009

You Played a Show, I Danced with Strangers

The little hairs on your lips
tickle in pink purple kiss
the cold of the car is so taut and numbing
the kiss is the only decent distraction from the terrible slow prog rock on the radio

but I like the way your arms are around me in the 3 a.m. dark
I like the way your face feels underneath my thumb
rough and kind
sinking me further and further into a blue morning
of breathlessness and reckless causing tongue texture

I like your skin.
It's smooth and warm
so unlike my alabaster everything

so unlike me.

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