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I don't need caffeinated kisses

from you r coffee ca ked lips I watch your hands slide

(slick lace) across mud stains on your hips.

Black lined eyes to pale, slight legs,

(pink slit, soft) a purple bangled magic marker, sparingly draped in wet dresses, soggy, bristled toes on pressure blistered feet.

Something silver slides through your hair,

(lighter and faster) that may be a cab light, or blurs of passersby or the lonely half-moon tonight.

But while we're swapping singles

(a tiny empty gesture) you curb curious glances from uselessly tasting sweet pickled pupils and bitter brown breath .

Phoenix - Spring 2003  

The editorially independent student literary and arts magazine of the University of Tennessee.