You wound your way under my tongue like maple syrup
and smoke, I kissed you and you stuttered,
stretched my name across the top of your bed
and I taught you to draw on your jeans and make them
represent you because words are precious and you should save them for me.
Like towels around you, damp and smelling like
vanilla and bleach, your mouth is warm, pancakes,
I think, powdered sugar. oranges.
I scream for you: you stop, I
Bite your wrist in splinters; bleed down the inside of your thigh.
You should know better.
a/n: a similar, longer version will be going up seprately in a few weeks.