one july, twenty strangers kept
a tally of attempted kisses on their fingers,
asking where we had been and
where we were going with
pink lemonade & vodka breath.

teenagers drop fingers like plucked
petals, the ones scattered on my porch after
i stripped my mother's roses in february
looking for someone's heart between
he loves me and he loves me not.

we look for answers in autopsies,
cracking open ribs and counting each snap,
each lover plucked from us like eve from adam.
we count down to eden on our fingers, number
the little paradises between our lips and hands.
how many heavens have you seen?

in february i caught roses in my skirt,
i caught thorns in my fingers and
called blood the price of miracles.
in july i kept my hands open,
i kept my fingers unpricked and
i told them i hadn't bled for anyone yet.

they put down fingers and pull back ribs
to bare their hearts to be bitten,
apples from the tree of wisdom.
when will they realize they are naked?