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  • K. S. 
  • 1 min read

For the main event, she throws her neck over the chair-back
and I go through the motions already made in a life where
we still kiss with our mouths open at 50.

I rub the tube down her lip like a piercer’s needle without his touch and murder her in my head:
her forehead is not so tall, bone-drop over an eye to pinch the corner shut.
I have rolled her in sharp color like film reel but I would be
hard-pressed to see it

(my hood-eye-girl my wink-and-blink love my—)!

Her top lip stabs the pad of my thumb and I add another tally to my ledger
(my lipstick-crush my one-bite-one-shot-best-you-one-handed-).
good? she says and I make a face and dive to the bottom of her closet,
searching for a sweater I left there in hopes she would sleep in it, but find A
pair of tweezers instead.
sit still, I call. Just as well.

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