there’s reflective chrome in the back of the diner on 46th Street and you’re alone again this time
ordering an ice cream sundae at almost midnight and you look up and see
a dress printed with fruit thats riper and juicier than you
maraschino cherries gobbled up by a mouth too ugly to look sexy with those big red lips
you know that boys don’t want to put their fingers in a mouth with big buck teeth
that taste like the artificial diet shake you downed this morning.
lumps and bumps and grease-stained fingers
in a motel room while the TV blares
you rumpled up the sheets yourself because
you didn’t want to feel embarrassed that you were walking out alone.
you are big black cow eyes
and a mouth dripping wet like when you’re about to take that first bite of cake and
she from across the table looks up at you and laughs daintily,
“oh honey, you’re drooling.”
you are honey cake sweetie pie pumpkin sugar
all those things covered in frosting you stare at through a glass case while
nibbling on those big red lips.
you went to bed without brushing your teeth and woke up the next morning with
that garish red lipstick on the bed like blood
and you remember that
his bacteria is still back there behind your molars from the first time you kissed
and for all you know it could be multiplying and growing right this very moment
which sounds kind of sweet at first but then it dawns on you that its disgusting
so you burn it all away with mouthwash
and decide to skip the diet shake this morning.