I found this on here but I couldn't find the original post or poet but I think it's so nice so read it anyway.
“she’s got a
smile
like a live wire,
spitting and crackling
through lipstick smudged
incisors
sharp enough to
tear your insides out;
she’s got
butter-slick
fingertips
that leave sticky
trails up the juts
of your spine
but you give her
your heart
anyway,
and wonder how her
nail polish
got so chipped
when she’s never done
the washing up
in her life.”
-- s.r.
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