The last time we kissed
I thought of my love
of words.
The opening and opening
of lips stained
in crimson ink.
The words of my flesh
etched into ribs:
Why would he
hurt me – something
human beings have
been consistently
good at – the spine
sprouting wings
a moment after
stumbling down and down.
Parted lips – repeating
words like the lost
innocence of
a bird her first time
falling from the
nest – with wings
opening and opening
feathers like
unkissed flesh blooming
under the weight
of parted lips
saying how could wind
hurt me. I’d kill
for it. For the
way crimson stained
parted lips can
open and open –
dispel words strong
enough to pin a small
body to the ground.
Ashley Mares has poetry published or forthcoming in Absinthe Poetry Review, Dirty Chai, Hermeneutic Chaos, Whiskey Island, White Stag, and others. She is currently completing her J.D. in Monterey, CA, where she lives with her husband. Read more of her poetry at ashleymarespoetry.wordpress.com and follow her @ash_mares2.