The last time I kissed you

I could taste

The burn I left on your tongue

From the time I kissed you

Before that

It was small and pink and blistered

It was the kind of burn that never goes away.

I gasped and said

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

You stopped me midsentence and said,

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt. I rub off of some people

The way a match rubs off of a rough surface.”

We swam around our fishbowl of silence for a while

Until you mentioned the time and how

You had to go back

To work.

We parted ways,

Me in my secret pride,

You in your unpublished pain.

I quit a lot of things that day.

I haven’t seen you since.