Pant
by Caroliena Cabada
I am trying not to be weird
despite the way my mouth
crumples into a crushed slice
of blood orange, overripe.
Despite the way my mouth
tastes in the earliest hours
of blood orange, overripe,
I’d still kiss the sourest
tastes in the earliest hours
directly from your skin.
I’ll still kiss the sourest
grape-flavored lipstick
directly from your skin,
upper lip still fuzzed peach.
Grape-flavored lipstick
stains my peppermint teeth,
upper lip still fuzzed peach.
Everything tastes like the strange
stains on my peppermint teeth.
Somewhere, I am waking up and
everything tastes like the strange
crumple into a crushed slice
somewhere. I am waking up and
I am trying not to be weird.
despite the way my mouth
crumples into a crushed slice
of blood orange, overripe.
Despite the way my mouth
tastes in the earliest hours
of blood orange, overripe,
I’d still kiss the sourest
tastes in the earliest hours
directly from your skin.
I’ll still kiss the sourest
grape-flavored lipstick
directly from your skin,
upper lip still fuzzed peach.
Grape-flavored lipstick
stains my peppermint teeth,
upper lip still fuzzed peach.
Everything tastes like the strange
stains on my peppermint teeth.
Somewhere, I am waking up and
everything tastes like the strange
crumple into a crushed slice
somewhere. I am waking up and
I am trying not to be weird.
Caroliena Cabada is a writer currently based in Lincoln, Nebraska. She teaches first-year composition and creative writing at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, where she is earning her PhD in English. Her first book of poetry, True Stories, is available from Unsolicited Press.