junie b groans

it tastes like winter, skin cells and space beetles, 

pointless and boring stick bugs. 
weight on the tip of your tongue, bile in the back of your throat. 

achy joints, frozen noses, cold toes. your breath like smoke curling around my pink ears. 
but you're closer, 

closer, so you taste pink like rose petals and fuzzy light, 
i held my breath untouched on my lips, confessions on my face. 

we break away in "he loves me not" petals... 
"he loves you not" you reassure me. but kiss me anyway. 

i'm special and he loves me so his arms like stick bugs,
full of greed like thick black dung beetles. 

i'm special so i still smile on the way home, a white lie
on the corner of my lips. white like the collar of your shirt 

open the door and deflate my ego with no calls from you. 
i'm special. because he loves me.