Make-off

make-off

paint these stains into my
thighs, use the
weapons I give you
I bled and bled and
wandered around like
you looked for
paint, my sheer burn
marks intact, sits in the
shape of a MAC compact
the one my fingernail
scratched through, the
scratchy feeling I'm
trying to break into.

my fingernails are never long
enough to tear the cellophane

that
first
pink
lipstick, that's what you
feel like

and after we finished
you were crushed and muted
a smudge on the bottom of my
purse.