the bright, tacky red lipstick I bought you is on your teeth
I swallowed the stick of peachy chapstick you wore the night we kissed
you have a polaroid of my tonsils hanging on your wall
and I have your camera that I stole from your bedroom
I still feel the heat of the summer nights when we were wasted on airheads and milk duds and orange creme soda
I remember what I dreamt the first night we fell asleep next to each other on dead grass
Children laughing as abrasions appeared on their knees
Scratched corneas
Bruising purple as we hit the statues of our ancestors
I'd stare at one mockingly
How do people consider it art
What is art?
Your body was lifeless next to me when the sun decided to wake me up
Up and down and up - your breathing was irregular
Now it's your heartbeat
I feel your pulse through your hand
Your fingers wrapped in hello-kitty bandaids feel like a barrier
I need to feel your skin
I brushed my thumb across your lips
Red's not your color