Lips

My index finger traced my chapped lips
From which I regrettably verbalized my wish

It is moisture and oil glands they lack,
So delicate and susceptible to cracks

I picked at them, peeling away dead cells
As my heart continued to swell

Thought that removing this impurity
Would give me some sense of relief

But then I began to bleed salty red,
And the taste ripped the beautiful image into shreds

I thought I took better care of them
Exposed them to something about which I have dreamt

Despite this new hydration coming with a bitter price,
I still can't find it inside me to say goodbye