Twice Bitten

There is a lipstick smudge
on the side of my mouth
and I am conversing
with two boys I’ve kissed.

The irony is this:
I had just finished lunch.
And while I am hugging one,
I’m talking to the other
an ex,
and of all the songs to come on shuffle:
“I Won’t Give Up” on us.

God knows, you weren’t tough enough.

But you’re the one to see me in distress,
tell me to remove the lipstick from
my face.
Before I plea helpless and we fall back
into pattern of conversing
like the best friends we were.

But she comes over,
glowers in the corner.
Like what?
Who don’t you trust?
But that’s enough for me to say goodbye,
but not before I get
one last hug.

And I’m glad there is no tide
of second chances rolling around,
that sometimes God speaks and other times it’s just a sound.

But my ex told of my smeared face.
My ex tried to fix the fake misplaced shame.
My ex laughs exactly the same.

And I don’t miss us.

But sometimes,
when life is screwing me over,
I remember it’s possible
to find somebody
to love.


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