Humans only imprint in time is lip gloss marks in your cheek

like brown sweetness cracking bit by bit into big cups of black caffeine,

kisses are always one tablespoon away from being perfect

(if you must know, all you have to do is put a hand in my face)

we owe love nothing but imperfection

the little pieces of ourselves we can give to one another when we talk in whispers and throw away old insecurities in those same dirty cups

(tainted with burgundy lipstick stains and cigarette ashes)

maybe we had to meet in this precise moment of time where we can offer each other nothing but stairway rush

and perfect or not,

here there's still that thousand year old secret long lost even in the yellowest, crinkliest or the testaments

that can only be learned by lovers

(even if they have only held each other twice) whose eyes cross when they're in a glimmering crowd of faceless friends

multicolor fishes moving from one side of the tank to the other in that itching teenage anxiety for more

and when lovers eyes find one another they smile because they and they only know that when you care about someone

(something) (anything)

time is beautifully distilled

(three day old watercolour paint that's been sitting in your desk, somehow unspoiled)

particles of a day swim and curl in front of your eyes as opposed to flying away from us

...and your black curls specifically

in these little ephemeral hours of existence

time goes into the freezer with that blue birthday cake and chinese takeout from last Thursday

make a journey down the endless suburban neighborhood and you'll end up walking through the street cables

they glow purple and yellow

(or maybe i just liked how

I saw you getting high in your room and these same neon framed your face) tumbling in and out of

lit up circus dreams