I Never Really Cared For The Taste Of Menthol Or The Way He Slid His Hand Up My Thigh

To the boy who fucked me over last summer. Thank you.

I kissed a boy once who's tongue taste like mint
and my body inhaled the leftover cigarette smoke
into each and every pore until I sweat tobacco.

He filled my stomach with tornadoes and sunflowers
and left my shirt smelling like lust the night
we watched constellations form on my living room couch.

I cried the pond into an ocean in one day when he left
because my mouth doesn't have a secure lock.
I should have seen the sign of "36 Broken Hearts"
that hung around his throat.

And I should have known by the way he kissed my neck
that all he really craved from a newly bloomed flower
were the petals she held so close.