you make your face
a grave to bury the fingerprints
of your lover :
you smear makeup over a broken face.
the world wears ballads on your wrist
each time you pass.
you smile,
a man searches for salvation in your eyes
he tells you his dead mother
walks inside your body
but you writhed his proposals.
you know your face is a facade.
you'll fall into what love has
wedged you into when night trumpets.
but, is this what it's to love
to keep gifting a broken body to a man
who breaks it?
