Chapstick

It’s February and my lips are cracking.

Whether it’s the cold drying them up

or the absence of your mouth on mine,

they beg for something soothing.

I lick them when I walk against the wind,

a temporary fix for a problem much greater.

It’s supposed to to be the month

of candy hearts and cherubs

but somehow the empty space on my lips

is the only thing that flashes in my mind,

neon lights over a motel: Vacancy.

And it isn’t until I’m digging through my car,

searching for comfort in the center console,

that it seems I’ve lost my Chapstick forever.

 

Everything is ephemeral once it touches my lips.

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Running

He tells me he’s tired, he needs a break from something.

Only I can tell, he wears himself out by running.

He senses love on the horizon and takes off in a hurry –

his fear brings out my utmost frustration and fury.

If only he’d slow down just long enough to see

that the wrong way to run is away from me.

I’ll treasure the day he gives his legs a rest,

admits I’m worth the time he’s too scared to invest.

Bruises

One hand in another

seems so divine

when two people’s

hearts happen to align

 

Until one decides

to tighten their grip,

just as the other’s

devotion slips

 

They try to hold on

with all of their might,

to keep their grasp

til the end of the night

 

It’s a sick game

someone always loses –

one person abandoned,

the other with bruises

 

A Regretful Return

It’s like every time I return to this town

I think it’s still the year that you loved me.

Like I put down the book we tried to write,

and running back to your doorstep

is as simple as finding my place in the pages.

Like you haven’t read other books by now

and perhaps found one you like better.

Like our story isn’t collecting dust

on the top shelf of your mind,

the one that I could never quite reach.