It rests just above your upper lip, dances
to the music that escapes your mouth
without your mind, every hum that
vibrates the skin—hidden from our feeble eyes—
every laugh bellowed from your belly—
It twitches with the wet sound of spit-slick
strings from separating teeth
as lips part wide to take food.
It jerks as your lips curl in a sneer at me.
Rarely does your scruff come out of hiding
and hide the dark dot—but I can still feel
it mocking me above your grin.
Mom says you look nicer with a beard,
and I agree. But your niceness is only relative.
YOU ARE READING
Piss and Moan
PoetryAlistair enjoys writing poetry despite his parents' disapproval of the feminity they believe it has. Still, he continues, and when he meets a boy, who his parents also disapprove of, he still continues. (I've written this before and it was really re...
