i'm stuck in the head we built together, running the swell of my own heavy lip under my teeth. i don't know what you taste like.

i spent one summer spitting out fingernails, pressing my toes against earthworms and bright piles of grass. you had a few fingers bent sloppily around my wrist and my elbow folded at your neck.

today my own heart kept flopping in my chest. i curled another layer of polish on my nails and drew the short end of a wishbone, kissed the silence until my fingers throbbed. i heard your heart thud so violently once that now i don't know anything loud enough to knock it out of my joints and pores.

you kiss him in your car and he says, "i love you," and someone looks at me like i'm supposed to be breathing.