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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 We parted ways, Me in my secret pride, You in your unpublished pain.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.
0
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
seventh degree burn
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 We parted ways, Me in my secret pride, You in your unpublished pain.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.
lyra-brown
Written by
Canadian
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
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