i kissed you and the
bitter taste of rain-washed metal
flooded my seductive tongue. and it was
ugly like me.
so i turned. shook my head, walked away (because
i swore i'd never run from a boy),
rubbing bruised lips.
later you called to ask
what the hell my problem is
(you must have read too much into me)
but i didn't bother answering beause
how could i tell you the truth?
(that even as you pressed your lips against mine,
i could think only of the beautiful,
tragic man who i refuse to love, refuse to love,
but cannot seem to forget.)