her shoulderblades are bruised
from those late white (k)nights;
but his lips are burnt
from those rushed (hurry, darling;
i can't take much more)
midmorning kisses
that ripped her soul a p a r t
as the stars fell asleep.

she traces his lips
(why are you shaking?)

& the skin
at the corner of her fingers are
chewed up
because she's the worst kind of cannibal.