Ivy

Yearning is inherited. 
She stares at the delicate skin 
of her wrists, searching for signs. 
That beautiful blue falling. 
We buy Hershey bars and street maps, 
sticky fingers tracing the roads 
between us. Collect bottle tops 
and unicorn stickers. 
How I nudge them closer to death 
with my fingernail 
when they begin to peel. 
How the scientists say 
we can never really touch. 
Something about electrons 
and porcelain shoes. 
Mother always tossing her hair 
and looking away. Troubling us 
with her sad stories 
of Mercurochrome and cocktail rings. 
We take super eights down to the lake. 
You film me in my bra, the look 
in my eyes daring you to harm me. 
Our lovely drownings 
as we try to swallow the stars. 
The livid-red coals of our cigarettes 
like fireflies in the night.