words to an old bride

let my lips hurt
for want of
pomegranate
or oatmeal

lick them
wet and raw
smear them
with vasoline
then, quietly

let me scream
for zesty italian
and cool china men
with guns and
swords and
letters from home

let my lips hurt
while we war
for toadstools
and bees knees
holy cliches

let them turn
for red kisses
soft forgotten
nasty hopeless
nibbles full
of wrong want

let my lips hurt
for years until
you love me
again and see
proclamations
stacked upon them

vows and oaths
foresworn before
hoardes of holy
and beloved on
them cracked
bleeding broken
but publicly revealed.