cutting grin

you made your lips
a crescent moon
cutting conservatism from your cheeks
as night caught us
comfortable in our flaws
like old souls sharing a bottle
you’ve told me i cross your mind
trailing promising pictures of shared dreams
like a wagon full of stars
and sitting across from you
watching the crescent moon
adjust itself in the lemon skies
of your face
i can’t help but wonder
if you think your smile brings me pain
and where those touchstones of pain
you’d like me to wash away

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