The alcohol has painted a slickness
over my throat. Your mouth, as well,
tastes like light blue liquor

And I kiss you like a machine –
My lips are cold like metal
And I move mine in a programmed sequence,
Feeling nothing.

I am thinking about the particles from your mouth
that now reside on mine,
The bit of you that now belongs to me,
And finding that I am harbouring molecules
From the wrong mouth.

a/n: I did one of those things that the characters in bad teen paperbacks do, when you are so exasperated that a person could actually be that stupid that you want to stop reading.