One-hundred and Forty: it doesn’t work

i knew you hadn’t held a heart before even
though you grabbed so gracefully at mine

it is natural to have flaws but so is lipstick.
i cut off all my sharp edges not to hurt you,

leaving only blushing words and awkward hands
instead of concorde mouth and butterfly fingers.

i thought you had chosen me so i tried to be good.
too bad i traded in my spitting fire eyes to do it.

but chemistry is more than mixing different girls
in your mouth to see what it tastes like all together.

this would have happened by accident if you let it.
i was good, too good, and you are a naughty child,

bored in science class, not listening to the teacher
when she says, trust me, i’ve already done that:

it doesn’t work.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

2 thoughts on “One-hundred and Forty: it doesn’t work”

  1. I’ve been sitting here trying to comment on your work without comming off corny or sounding like i have my head up your ass. Plainly put, i like this alot.

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