“Spit in my palm,” he says before he leaves. It is blue and black and it peels off like a sticker. Deep in your gut, a feeling like you’ve given away something important. A part that was so small you forgot how it felt until it left you. You watch yourself walking him to the door as if it hadn’t already happened.
What they don’t understand is that some kisses have no meaning. Pushing your lips forwards because the thick touch awakens you. Immediately after you want nothing to do with it.