a poem for lips

from crepuscular orations

the last kiss, the mouths & lips.
those lips.
his huge lips smacking for no reason.
his lips... his mediocre hypochondria
on my lips, on my genitalia, on my beings.
Your lips & your height aren't going to be enough for me.
Your lazy lips letting themselves be,
his lovely full lips and curly dark hair.
Where mouths biting and lips everywhere,
like the flat lips of a fish
but what if I reached across the bar there and touched his lips...
This is lips are awesome, oh, why don't I have thick, full lips just for this purpose...
using my mouth and tongue and lips as they're meant to be used.
My mouth and lips and tongues over his,
my lips are sealed.
What's with the seven little kisses on my lips?
Lips in slight smile.
Lovely full lips parted,
his breath I dislike and his lips are soft and formless.
His lips want to make someone fall in love with him.
He uses lips with what they are and tongue sparingly.
He kissed me very softly on the lips and I saw animated triangles.

dear old ones

? I think I missed it. And you have, & we know it. I know where you are, too. Do you know about me? never alone? I can see us seeing us seeing me, watching out for you. But for where? is it the sound of a drink hitting your glass? is it about the truths we told, and the one question I shouldn't ask. but will pretend to have not.

How many noses at which I have wondered. And eyes, your celebritorial eyes. Like all the famous men, with the old creases surrounding. And another, yours, with the darkblack lashes. And yours, changing always hazel blue. But the noses. The ones I remember for years & years. The length of one, thin and so sharp I think my soft cheek might cut open on it. &  I can't crave this sight. The possibility of a slice made by one is devastating enough. I'm of a devastation persuasion & have had all I could want of you.

The indifference of a cheek turned, the casual phrases carried through the radio, translated text... the questioning high-pitch of an uncertain voice. The questions which aren't questions. Honesty displaced; too nervous to make attempts for it. The solo opportunity. The failed friend. The mediocre tries, the givens up. My own wishes at communicating bodiless. The mouth & mind, and the staring across a table. The regrettable disappointment inevitable, caught it cold this time.