How about the bed?
That’s where you get your tan the best.
He said,
Where are you going?
And I didn’t know myself,
I’ve had his lips locked onto mine
Like cherry gloss
But it’s rubbing off
And I’m stuck abroad
And his pictures fade like hours in the day
I kiss strangers and they all taste the same
I want orange juice in my hair
And salt in the air
It rubs off on the cliffs of my shoulders
I’ve caught the tan alone
And there’s the rub, the insect sucks on me
Like a slush puppy
I’m tired, red as a catholic, blacker than a star,
Sleep is all very innocent until there’s somebody in the room
They watch you as you do
They taste your near-death
And then I go back to the bed
He said,
This is where you look best.


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