it's not supposed to go that way, i think.

.




eyes closed mouth open

with a complete disregard
for the sky in my mouth, you kiss
and bite my bottom lip
with the sincerity of the hungry—

I can not feel the cold of your teeth:

the aching of transience has torn
that much asunder—the self
is too much; our skin too rough,

and the only pinpricks
of light I found
were of wet lips& rust,
distressed attraction&
the cyclical, frantic running
of time.








familiar

the scent
of him and chlorine,
gathered in the lines of my palms,
stains my skin;
and i cannot bear our smell of
old, wrong love,
the great fragility of the aroma,
like that of hurting gardens
and broken rooms--
the walls within which
you numbed my tongue
with your taste
and taught me of your hurt.













.