the space between the tongue and mouth is called loss

Anonymous

how do we get to the sky // summer kissed crimson on its cupid’s bow drawn back between your shoulder blades // i abandoned my body in ohio when you told me you loved him // solitude is a chronic insomniac when neither know the ending // which is not to be confused with the taste of grapefruit, incessant stinging on the tongue // the kiss of loneliness is more bitter than sweet // i turned seventeen around the fingers of another girl // teeth sunk in keratin trenches, trying to retrace your words with my tongue // back track to a time before the fruit was ripe, branches breaking under the unknown // why are all gay love poems about fruit // my fruitless labor // you make sodomy jokes taste sweet // i’d compare you to a sunflower if i could // but it is february, and i am your late-spring bloomer // a self-portrait unfurling from your tongue // spectacle close enough to call canvas your skin // i used your body as a roadmap between here and the afterlife // lost myself in your camera obscura // turn me upside down again, babe // disillusionment tastes like peaches, maybe, syrupy saliva soaked in cracked renaissance paint // titian burnt into my tongue // venus is the mother of vengeance // urbino, you said, look at my body // how beautiful in the nude.