She has red roses as asterisks, the star-shaped things
that are just scar shapes on me

and with her, there is
pollen
that she'll drag her fingernails across. She will
sprinkle colors on your chewed up,
cratered lips, saying you

will look beautiful and
feel full again. Well, I'll be the one to kiss you next
with grains of sulfur glued to your cheek

the rotten taste
making it so your mouth glows in the dark. I
know where to kiss and never tell: I
am sure you must notice my cigarette burns when

the lights are out. I have lit myself
like a candle,
and say
I cough from the smoke because no one can know
that I swallow all your poisons for you.