Bow legsBuckle under himI look up with swollen eyesHe's there in his gloryJames Dean esqueDangerous chiqueOddly safeHolographic fingersBrush my temple..
Mascara clumps formIn the same areas of our eyesOur ribs are crushed into our lungsHer feminine frameNever with closed fistsA gentle alternativeJawbon..
If he knew the sounds his nails makeWhen he scratches these wallsWould he file them down?If he knew of the all the bloodThat he poured on his own hand..
If my porcelain chipped awayI could step outside in MayWatch my skin turn copper tintAnd wonder where Snow White wentIf my hair lost its raven streakG..