bottom lip

today was the windowsill I perch from
the glass through which I live, witness
the sun move across the courtyard bricks
like a flipbook of light
the arm’s length I keep between my body
and each beating chest that approaches

today was the fingertrace
on the coffeeshop window, in this city
that looks so good when it cries
the cursive hello written
on an exhale

today was the bottom lip
memory of my last kiss
that I walk further from
each day.

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