youth tunes

you never want to call someone a liar
when their hands are pressing into the small of your back.
someone taught me a long time ago, how
the truth can hide between kisses and
mixed saliva, so much easier
than it can escape your deceitful mouth.

and you never want to cry because
the tears trudge down the same plane his face
once laid against. they slide between breasts,
onto nipples. some faint memory of his tongue.
wet against soft places all the times
you wanted to forget how to think.

no one's fingerprints can levee
all the hurricane-people-storms you are
below hotel, sunshine state sheets
all those atomic explosions you meet.

I found my gods in a city and left them
for fake tits and false speed limits.