Red Lipstick Bruises
Is it raining where you are?
Will you always be so far away, from our curb?
Where we thrashed and smoked up to it like an altar.
We ruined it as kids,
The murderers we dated,
We chose those corners we starved in.
We rolled around town like lovers
When all we had was chump change,
All we had was the dirt under our finger nails,
All we have now is a hawking depression praying
I want your body, I want to touch you,
You said the same thing to me,
But we don’t ever repeat it
Cause everyone knows you’re a proper lady.
So I sit in this city like an uprooted tree, and slowly breathe.
I breathe in dank comments from angry clerks and the upset Church.
I read my hope in a book that cries for more than
A cock-sucking bitch to help me feel complete.
I keep notes from classes that long ago helped me see:
I am not hope, you’re not mine and life is more than charity.
I breathe, dear Lord, keep me.
I miss that cranky dialogue we used to have.
That messed up champion you covet for love has taken that away.
As flat eyebrows umbrella my stare this morning,
My pipe in hand, warm and gently whispering,
In my throat is another pot of coffee.
Your skins rough,
Your solemn rest,
The rain on the windows
When you first left.