there's lipstick on my toothbrush
ribbit on my windpipe
scars on my friendly fire
making a whisper into a shiver
making love into a bruise.
can't help it if my eyes stumble
into those tall truths you call lullabies.
how can I sleep when I know I'll wake
up with the same number of freckles?
annorexic chefs. sane artists.
grow a nose for me, I need to know
when to turn and split.