Kisses Like Obituaries

She kissed him like she was already gone,

like the goodbye was stuck between her lips,

like her body was just a place

for ghosts to rest their weary heads.

She let him pull her in,

let his hands press into the curve of her spine,

let him believe she was something

he could love.

But some girls were meant for candlelit vigils,

for Polaroids tucked into the back of wallets

long after they’ve disappeared.

She kissed him like a death sentence,

like a requiem,

like a name written in dust

on the back of a forgotten mirror.

And he should’ve known better.

He should have realized

some lips are made for love,

but hers were built

for leaving.