Two Truths Per Lie
by Leo Burchell
I steal the balms of peach1 and lime2 and bruise3,
the local thief of worn-out pharmacies4.
I pucker up in Steven’s beat-up cruiser5,
so he can taste this love-filled larceny6.
He strokes his hand along my stubbled jaw7;
I burst with citrus kiss8; allow my shame to melt9.
He is my engine10, rev11, my guiding star12.
He clutches me like I’m his seatbelt13, yes,
his sighing airbags14, his crumple zone15.
3The truth: I pick the hue of open wounds.
6His lips don’t touch my own–he sits up, blown–
9as flaming shame remains unthawed, cocooned.
12I would not let him lead me from this night.
13He slips his belt around his waistband, tight.