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.

I fold.

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.