lips. teeth. flesh.

a poem

I don’t need your lips. I mean after all, why on earth would I?

I get my kisses from the lipstick prints decorated around wine glass rims.

I get my blood from the pomegranates and figs and cherries I eat whole with a grin on my face and juice on my cheeks because I’m just a girl.

I get my love uttering Aphrodite’s name three times before bed each night.

And with the moon comes candles burning, pages turning, pearls laced around my neck and fingers, and men down the hall screaming, no, crying.

Yeah, I’m right, don’t need you.