Kissing With Knives Out

should it matter
if you cut me
but say that’s love?

failing to do so. . .

I have seen that look many times
way before I met you,
way before you could ever happen, and un-happen.

my words are cheap,
they come easy,
a natural flow,

how can you touch me
when I can’t touch myself?

a distinct odor,
a peculiar paint,

a reflection in the mirror
that stares