This is how we have come to communicate our pain:
Red lipstick on cigarette butts
Lips interlocked with strangers
Hips swaying to music our souls never dance to
Sandwich between foreign sheets
Loud slurs of “get me another drink”
Feet a tangled mess tripping over each other.
Then at three am, under skies black as our skin,
when the music goes off
and the crowd has thinned:
Deep rumbling cries,
Uncontrollable tears.
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