Rachel

17

"lovers"

I remember one time
when I fell asleep in your bed
in the afternoon

and the sun,
it poured through the window like kisses,

I had this dream
that we unfastened our lips from our faces
and I painted mine Seduction,
the first lipstick I ever bought,
now long gone.

We took the lips
and put them in plush, white boxes
and then in glass cases
where they were kept safe, and soft,
and people could look at them
through the viewfinders of their $5000 Nikons.

“Lovers,” read the plaque,
the year, the materials, the city.

Meanwhile,
we were lipless
and could no longer love:

you had no mouth
to be the sun;

I had no mouth to tell you to come back
when you went away.