Breathe

the cars run red lights

through my silhouette,

Blue jeans, and grey jacket

and can they see me?

can they see her lips

on my nipple, my neck

straight down my neck

where her fingernails

ached into my side

East Colfax

the phone booth

shuts out the rain

bleeding from the sky

the pay phone rings

the way it does

when no one intends

to pick up

the phone rings

laughing at the anxiety

of my pose

and the stale look

on my face

trying to cover up

her saliva

under my chin,

tucked behind my ears,

between my lips

the phone rings

can they see the way

i smeared her hips

onto my body,

pulling on the bottom

of her shirt

and writing her flesh

on my stomach

like a story

3 o'clock

the bus creeps

up on the

side of the road

her hazel eyes are

more important than

the eyedropper of truth