Dirt rumbling on smooth stone
A headache that spins and spins and spins
Eyes locked with eyes locked with mine
Smirk, mock, cease, fumble
The lips tighten
lies or truths
Retract, refine the eyes
Looks aren’t looks
But gaping pits the pink of the lips
That’s where you want to look.
Saliva full of sanctuary
Their true religion, their true tune
Colors bolden near the pupil
But the black the white
The grey the untouched matter
All in the tongue, the cupid’s bow
A smile isn’t a smile if it’s always held
It’s a canvas stringing out of place
Snip the wires the dance falls
The skirt of our skin billows
Lids fall where windows wanted
Make time with the eyes
Seep in air with waves
In and out and in and out
Pale flowers pictured in alignment
Curved and gracious
Gravestones marked with a smile Pink of the lips pink of the lips.
perched pointlessness of the mind
flooding into air
drain with skin on skin
lip on lip
pink on pink on pink on pink
spin to spin
rumbling of white
silence like the smoothness of a rock
pink of the lips.