lie. They curl up like
a sleeping cat into a smile
when she's sad. She speaks
like she's not had a broken
heart. She colors them cherry
blossom. But when she’s with me
she plays possum. Her eyes drip
in crimson watercolors, a bleeding
sky, running into the river. She's a
splinter, a sliver of the woman
she was. Painting starry nights
blazing through a violet sealed
off maze. And when I kiss her
she’s not kissing me. Her lips are
like rubbing up against the bark
of a tree. And there's no heat.
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 9:13 AM UTC
lie. They curl up like
a sleeping cat into a smile
when she's sad. She speaks
like she's not had a broken
heart. She colors them cherry
blossom. But when she’s with me
she plays possum. Her eyes drip
in crimson watercolors, a bleeding
sky, running into the river. She's a
splinter, a sliver of the woman
she was. Painting starry nights
blazing through a violet sealed
off maze. And when I kiss her
she’s not kissing me. Her lips are
like rubbing up against the bark
of a tree. And there's no heat.
Request permission to use this poem