I WANT TO GET MARRIED BEFORE I START LOSING ORGANS
Reapply my lipstick with a prayer to keep me heart shaped.
……..My dearly beloved is a red red cherry.
My cherry never popped. A boy’s hand plucked out its stone
……..behind Babylon. I was 19 then grew
slick with pussy blood, whirling into a knock kneed scramble
……..for any taxi’s plush derrière.
From another’s open mouth, his greedy hand would beckon
……..to Mike. My modern day amoureux
is named Michael. It’s a trash bin coincidence, a lil O-faced gasp
……..leaving red on the globular fruit
I teethe, lovingly. My soft naïve bits were harvested like organs
……..and later went stalked
by tumors, suiciding what’s left. Still, born love is red and exists
……..in menstrual blood, every time
we seed to create nothing. Sway my blanched hips underneath
……..scuzzy satin, I’m effervescent at burst.
That’s how we know it was special. My red red lipstick takes a gun
……..of cigarillo, letting you into the secret
alley where Mike bleeds me out of me, on repeat, with every man.
……..I never could flesh myself anew.