Winner

Ink Stained Fingertips

You should see me when I’m alone
& I’m unaware of how long my nails have grown
so when I scratch my neck
I am pulling out the seeds of lust
& the coronation of lies you have planted.
Four sugars. No cream.
Don’t let it wash over your tongue after our heated kisses,
that sparks like a dripping constellation.
Because really, it should never have happened.
You are like a poem –
you live inside the letters.
Your freckles are full stops.
Your smiles are commas.
But,
The words smudge against my fingertips,
because I write too quickly to let it dry.
So you are left smudged & messy.
But I prefer you with tousled hair
and rain spattered clothes,
your shoes stuck to the weeds that grow
like limbs between the cracks in the pavement.