parking lots on suburban nights
we would congregate there after long shifts, held captive
as conversations and arm gestures played out like symphonies
secrets drifted past lips and simmered at the surface.

we ignored all the lines
there was no place I would have rather been.

when the moments of silence grew longer
like shadows that disappear with the sun
we marched back to our cars, one by one,
or my favorite,
two by two.

fingers finicking with the temperature controls,
my stomach crawls into my throat.
one second
your eyes flirt with the car door
the next
they’re teasing my lips.
                                                           ­                             
I learned a lot in that parking lot.

I turned myself inside out
every inch of me exposed
illuminated by orange street lamps.

in that car, you never dared to venture beyond those straight white lines,
you painted over them, again and again, thickening the divide
between your seat and mine.

maybe it was the way the street lamps reflected on my face
or the way the music made me feel, just sad enough
or the look on my face in the rear-view mirror
but when you ran out of paint
the line began to fade away
I faded with it.

I learned a lot about lips
whose I shouldn’t have kissed.

so why do I coat my lips, first with lipstick then with tears?
because I place my self-worth in the curves of my mouth.
I cover them up just to wring them back out.