lipstick sick

clown face in the
bathroom mirror
seven years old
and kissing my best friend
in her bathtub
mother in the guest bedroom
half-asleep

dressing up
dressing out
of sparkling purple
and gold
necklaces out-running
our bodies

photography
behind a locked door
and after years of
repressing

I know
often
where my words are
going

back around the streets
in squares
because no one really
goes
in circles

my friend in her

soft black skin
and bare lips

my lips

red and sparkling
with younger
wonder
too old for
"the right time"

years later
talking decently deep
on the telephone
with Summer

finding those circles
more capable than
pornography

but good-reads never really
write
in circles-
do they?