my lips are soft lips.
buttery, smooth
the color of ballet slippers.
they smirk
and they pucker
and they curve up on the sides
when i'm trying not to laugh.
my lips are sealed lips.
they do not repeat secrets,
no, these lips are trustworthy lips.
they are still glued shut,
not letting me say the things i want to say, need to say...
there's a reason my poetry
is written down,
not spoken aloud.

his lips are soft lips.
buttery, smooth
the color of pink carnations.
they smirk
and they pucker
and they curve up on the sides
when he's trying not to laugh.
his lips are healing lips.
they heal mine, heal me
when my lips are too tired from telling the same lies i always do.
no, his lips are honest lips.
they are still always candor,
never afraid to tell me
what i need to hear,
whispered in my ear.

our lips are galaxy lips.
when they touch,
even the stars don't know what to do so they explode,
supernovas shattering the Earth,
as the Sun and Moon collide
in a cacophony of stardust.
our lips
are astronomical lips.
-a.c.b