To Tell A Bleach Lip So Long (Poetry)

Where’s the footprint with a toe?
Black hair only
lies to you—
It never tells of her secrets
—the scratchings on the wall
Miss Summer opens her purse
—white paint smears off
—off the beach house floor
the opaque dew drops beneath
a cross pattern of St. Augustine’s hero—
I wish, I could play catch with you
to tell you it will be alright
Though we are different, you and I,
—as weight surmounts moment’s glory
I cannot hush this Summer
never again, not anymore—
—white deepens your black black body
what canvas is locked inside
You press me hard so gently
—to only truth
your white teeth subside.