Aftertaste

by Maggie Mahoney

Swish of sugar — grit
between my teeth
turns gums pink, bloodied and blooming
like left out lilacs
on a sun split stoop.

Featherlight press on hip bone jut,
I am flattened
by the stench of new paint
that trails tattoos on my thighs,
wet and wanton.

Kisses swap secondhand smoke,
bottle fed nicotine.
Make me crave tobacco in small swallows, 
aftershocks from when I quit
craving you.

My tongue still snakes the shape
of your right dimple.
Imagine lapping sweet sweat that
that pools there
and anoint myself inside.

LACE MAGxComment