There's something in a kiss.
I've never been.

The quick cheek
or the lovers racing me to see
how many they can give before I turn green.

And even though I'm not,
I'm always green.

Hands out windows, lips blown.

A soft one,
carried to a small, chocolate-ed mouth
so mom can steer.

On the corner every day, waiting at my red
at 3:30 or 3:35,
not as practiced
but meaning as much as a kiss can mean
at thirteen.

But it must be the hopeful one that gets me most, stuck on an envelope, paused at the box.
No one else waits on toes like she does
or kisses paper
like a person.
Deliberate,
and I can almost see it kiss back.

She lets it go and goes herself
and I wish I was every light
to make sure she was safe.

How does it feel?
How does it feel?
How does it feel
knowing none of these old poems are for you?

It looked as perfect as a watch,
but twice as lively.
Just as little
with little hands.

The way it smiled was gorgeous
and made me understand why my mother called me that.

Something to fight for
Something to live for
Something to die for.

I think about you like you were a dog.
The kind that droop, just made out of skin
(the sad kind).

I always wondered if the dogs would start crying in a ball on their bed, wrapped in blankets with their makeup running, trying to be quiet
(so their moms couldn't hear)
if I didn't call them.

But I know that dogs
(no matter how ****** you are to them)
always come back.
Like whatever you did wasn't that bad.

Like it was their fault.

I am window shopping missing you
clenching my teeth for something I can't afford
that could live without me anyway.

I see it on your tongue, what you taste to say
and it stays there despite my kisses.

You hide it in the fold of your cheek.

It dare not come out,
as if it were like all other said things,
wrapping softly over my face and neck
making my head hot.

The air has heaviness,
fallen questions that wanted to be god.

You were saying something lost in my hair.
Only your jaw clicks.

I'm the worst at flying.
Sure am good at screaming, though.

I know, I know.
"She doesn't sound crazy."
but believe me
the crazy person
when I say

we never do.