Hers are the awful kind of lips,
like a flounder split down
it's flat middle,
with it's tiny intestines
licking outward for more salt.

This is the broken sea
of love.

Your love is the kind
that makes a fish out of her.

Her lips are mercury-colored
and mercury-shimmering.

Inside that fat head of yours,
while she kisses
your belly full of hair,
you are constantly
swerving and shivering
looking for the sharks.

But you are comfortable,
in a way.