My neon nails traced the only evidence left,
Beads of translucent proof that you could see,
So unlike my opaque skin with transparent memory clapping underneath
In reversed downwards spirals as I hiccupped happiness:
Little cloudy bubbles with rainbow-tensioned surfaces
Mingling and coalescing with the sweat to form puddles
Of purified water, like through the Britta water tap
Mom has hooked to her stainless steel faucet.

I helped myself to lavender pillow spray to help me sleep
Instead of staring at the gravity-defying grit of my stucco ceiling
And praying that I’d dream of you, clenching my fists together
Until I could feel my heart knocking on my epidermis and rocking on my knees;
I’d never prayed for the safety of my family with this intensity.
I doubt I’d remember to smear lamb’s blood above my door
If the plagues ever came, even though I’m first-born,
But I’d always hear the way your breathing was as heavy as mine
When I lay in bed, because it was the only sound I’d ever perceived
As real.

We lay as equals under a shadow that covered
Everything that lived and breathed with the same coating of night,
Allowing little metal peek holes into something greater, something beyond the
Heavy, wooden gate, painted black like they’d already turned us away,
Like the hole in your door that your mother looked out beadily,
Sticking a Post-It note labeled “slut” on my forehead even before
She caught us in your car, a tangle of exposed legs and brains.
Our love was lobotomized before it fully developed
Synapses and myelin, so that all she removed was grey matter,
Dripping and sloppy, and ugly to anyone’s eyes.

But we had the potential to be beautiful,
To wake up with the dawn on the hood of your mom’s van
And not worry that it was morning and she’d notice it was gone—
To not need the phone she wrenched from your shaking grasp
Because we could speak without saying anything at all,
Just by standing there, your window facing mine with a courtyard between us,
Our hands pressed to the glass like we could intertwine fingers
And each breath making warm, misty hearts more pronounced just below our noses.

Jump cables attached to each of our hooked pinky fingers
And we sprung apart, landed on our tailbones with a crunch,
The wind not knocked, but sucked out of us, like someone had fastened
A vacuum to our mouths and was laughing as our cheeks flapped around,
Resisting the airless tube that led to nothing but dead skin cells and hairballs.
Your mom was the housewife, tying her apron behind her back
And sweeping, mopping, dusting me into every trash bin she could find.
But you salvaged me each time, scooped me out with yellow, rubber gloves
Pulled up past your elbows and placed me oh so carefully in the recycling bin,
Caressed by Jones’ soda bottles and Daisy sour cream containers.

We’d been told, “You can’t,” so many times before that we found ourselves
Parroting the words; “No, we can’t,” I’d say, and push down your hand that had
Tried to touch my face so it mirrored the dropping temperature
And imitated the arms of your mom as she uncrossed them, finally satisfied
That our “lust-filled, dirty infatuation” had been stomped sufficiently
By her Jimmy Choos. Now all that was left to do was Swiffer WetJet
The guts—the walks on the boardwalk, just breathing the air and being with each other,
The sly, under-the-eyelash glances when the other wasn’t looking,
The quickened heartbeats and in-synch steps and the taste of Juicy Fruit
And never have to think about her son’s skanky, atheist indiscretion
Until she humorously recalled it as “a mistake averted” on his good, Christian wedding day
To another girl.

******

Hey, everyone! This poem has been nominated for the first-ever "Best Poetry" category down at the Some Kind of Wonderful awards. If you think it deserves a vote, please pop down and give it a click! Here's the site: skow. byethost18. com/vote. php (without the spaces).

Thanks for your support in advance, I appreciate all of you so much, and happy SKoW-ing! *wink*