I just hugged Zoe and I saw her hickies and wanted
to kiss her lips over and over just like the day
we got high and danced underneath moving lights
and she was in my tutu and her blonde hair
felt right tickling my face and the boy
who is supposed to love her didn't notice
and it made us laugh and laugh because
if we didn’t laugh; we would have cried.

Why do we love to leave behind bruises
on lips and necks and arms and eyes
and teeth? It hurts but no matter what, no
matter how much I crush my teeth together to
hide my yelps, it always turns into this
beautiful, beautiful mark that doesn't want
pressure and looks like a sunset borrowed
it it’s colors because no one, not even
a bruise, wants to be ugly.