a new poem entitled

I revise my lips over
and over edit them until
they are my very own.
Thin unworthy lips
that graze on yours
until there is blood
or spit and wine
the soft flesh lingers
like old Jack Daniels
in a square bottle or
a fat husky throaty laugh
stolen from your dad.
At last when they are
the lips that could possibly
tell my story they are
entitled to verse.
A feeling twists around
my teeth chink against
the glass. The swig slugs
my uvula rattles around
my teeth chink against
the glass. Again. You
smile. Your eyes trace
my shadow on the floor.
Rough draft from beneath
the door becomes a final
copy. We both turn it in.

Our lips, unworthy, yet
entwined.