we smell pink tonight
in our bedroom with our
dollar store deodorants
& cheap flip flops. i love my friends
in twist-tie ways. braid & unbraid
bra straps like ladders. a chest
is a kind of skull. we eat
sugar from a bag using mis-matched spoons.
a television becomes a girlfriend
& briefly so do i. i consider
toes like tulip bulbs. want to
ask if anyone needs to be kissed.
let the pillows fill with leg hair.
a razor on a windowsill. back swear.
tired socks & shed feathers.
smudging nail polish on carpet.
we ponder july & pool water
& boxers. shoot hair ties
at mars who is too visible.
exchange tips for talking to boys.
i go to the bathroom & try to
wash my hands in a way that might
clean my whole body. put lotion
behind my ear because i saw it
in a movie once. all my girlhood
is imitation. how a mirror
asks the same question backwards:
are you sure? vs. you are sure?
most of us want to be something
we are not. it's about how wide
the distances grew while we're
no looking. applying more deodorant.
pink cap. pink gums. brushing teeth.
our spit in the same sink.
i'm going to be first
to fall asleep.
i can already feel it.