Your mouth is bruised water, and at times
in our laughter I want my throat wet with it.
I like the sheen of girl-skin, the way that your
body is like my body, but better. You are not
a college experiment or a midnight hypothesis
or mouth-to-mouth ways to make our lovers
jealous, but you are not love. I merely yearn for
beauty, *******. I simply want to steal new
pears and rub my teeth against their milk-flesh.
I am loop-stitched with craving and you are not
to blame. I am not a selfish girl, but I have a soft
mouth and I want to taste it all.