Goodnight and great love to you. We see the same stars.
When our breasts arrived
as a kind of currency, we’d tug
our camisoles low, use
our newfangled bodies to haggle
with the ice cream man. The winner
was the girl who received her chocolate cone
for free, who sucked on candy cigarettes
the same way she wore a training bra.
That summer my pockets grew forests
of hand-tied maraschino cherry stems:
tampered evidence that I might one day be worthy
of kissing. In exchange for rides
on the handlebars of their bikes,
we’d let the boys bite
the beads off our candy
necklaces until the chokers
resembled punched out teeth.
From their slobber, blue and violet
stained my throat where the sweetness
had once been, so I suppose,
Your Honor, I was preparing
You are a Sunday porch I could do nothing on
and feel like everything was happening.
You’re so tall when you’re
standing on everyone’s back like that.
Every heart has turned into a siren,
every skull has filled with train tracks
and the daydreams riding them,
trying to get away from a place like this.
You finally have the loudest voice here,
but your language is so dirty
that no one else even wants to speak it.
You play along,
because you want to die for love,
you always have.
Yes, yes I do.
I guess i find new people. Some who won’t let me down as much.