Her eyes held
the same contempt.
Their reflections
mired in the puddle,
her pollen filled words
landing on his back,
and he brushed them off
like a discarded book
jacket.
No amount
of tugging
them around herself
could warm her
as he crushed
a wet cigarette
beneath his boot,
and she felt
her insides
discolor the rain.
Her grasping fingers
pull you in
till closed eyes
absorb
the powdery
fear
that bullies
might torment her
if that rose petal nose
should ever grow
to match yours
so let
that tear
linger on your lips
and taste
the injustice
of the lover
who could ever
hook her
with thorny promises
then leave her
sobbing
dab and
dawdle
lip to rosy skin
until you realize
she’ll always be
too innocent
to tell you
that you just
did it wrong.