we sat on the roof

mahogany tiles checkering our denim pockets

i wanted to dance with you

you wanted your conversations

with him to turn from blue to grey

my eyes found a star with the grace of a dove

(not you, that one, the smaller one up there)

i wished that you might stargaze

upon our twined fingers ("but we're just friends")

instead of the messages

that say 'read' on your screen

but perhaps i should have wished

that wishes came true

instead.

too conditioned

conditioned to take lies

like a mother’s counterfeit medicines

to hear promises for what they are (not)

nothing i say will separate gospel and myth

so why bother unstitching my lips?

don’t answer that.

it’ll just be more lies.

then again, fiction thrusts a pink plastic pacifier

between saltwater lips

so go ahead

whisper sweet nothings into my ear

as though they might hold the same zeal i harbor for you

&my cheeks will bloom roses in your forged april sunshine

though, in verity, it is the manifestation of a flush

from the bite of this november frost

because i know

your ersatz tongue hungers for his lips

not mine.

your ears seek his halfhearted praise,

eyes pursue a role in his cruel puppetry shows,

fingers travel to the patch of skin

where his shoulder brushed yours.

but i will take it.

i will revel in the lipstick you tattoo along my collarbones

like pills, like liquor, like smoke embroidering lungs

i will take (give) anything

you endue (ask of me)

because if your falsity is not sedation,

the sanctuary you have fabricated for me

will perish the moment

i take the kisses (lies)

like those of Judas