My lower lip splits every time my teeth touch it,
I wonder how my blood will taste
with the crude Irish homemade beer, a thick,
red beer that leaves a sting in your mouth,
that I drank five minutes ago.
The lip is a reminder, as well as the blue bruise
on my neck shaped like an upside down teardrop,
of Thursday night when you mounted me
fully clothed, wearing thin sweatpants.
You bit my neck and sucked at the same time--
scared me with your ferocity, your passion.
I kissed your mouth gently, and you sucked
me in with your lips and put your teeth
on them, pulled back with a
pronounced Coors marked breathe.
I lifted your shirt and kissed your stomach,
kissed a circle around your belly button ring
with the little pink jewel at the top.
You told me to stop because you hated your
body. Relentlessly I took in your taste,
the flavor of your sweat, I kissed your stomach,
then kissed your neck. The twang of pain
began to spring up in my lip.
But I pushed them harder to feel the
marks your teeth left on them,
to remember the fever you had.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...