The tumbleweed loves the girl with a savanna mouth By kmp

The tumbleweed loves the girl with a savanna mouth

look.
look. i’m a child of the shrublands—
everything about me is painfully dry so i’m
not sure you’ll understand this but the air here
tastes a certain way in november. drags against
your nose & lungs like you’ve just gone for a
run. still this breathlessness you leave in your
wake is something new.

i never intended to live this long. never felt
the need to plan this far ahead, and why would
i? the closest thing to permanence i have known
is the way my lipstick stains everything and mold
grows everywhere my mouth has ever touched:
there’s a power to outliving yourself. i will never
be a girl again; who could do that to me now? like
salve on dry skin.

the point is this: i like it when we’re in your car
and it’s just the two of us and the feeling you
could drive anywhere and still be taking me home.
the slide of your sleeve against my skin when we
reached for the map felt like the rustle of leaves
against concrete and it made me think of this high
desert wind we get. i’d breathe you in,
if you’d let me

By kmp

Biography:

kmp is a southern californian poet and aspiring lit major working two jobs to put herself through college. she wants to know everything, feel everything, be everything; she won’t settle for less. kmp has previously published poetry in Rising Phoenix Review, The Wall, L’Éphémère Review, and Werkloos Mag, as well as in her chapbooks “UNBOUND” and “Ask Me a Question//I’ll Write You a Poem.”

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