Papercut

You smell like diamonds
Freshly cut
The product of greed
I stare like addicting
and crash into emotion
Do not make a scene
I'm a little tired
and your jagged edges
are oh so comforting

Priceless with no value
Our hips gently touch
careful not to remove the tag
my hand's make an appraisal
there's little known
of black market vendor's
but they see something special
and who am I to argue

Men prod uncomfortably
You stare with incredible distance
at the stars where we kissed
special like constellations
meaningful and infinite
Now you are given extra shine
smoothed out
packaged for resale
drifting away


They put you in the market window
prettied up
a model's definition of snappy
your lips pucker with devotion
in a taste one could never get enough
I wish you a second chance
at hiding shallow grace
lawyers are busy copyrighting your smile
and I still miss your face.