Transition

by A.J. Huffman

girl. I am what I never wanted
to become:  unintended.  I hang,
faceless, against your wall.
“Touch when needed!”
The neon label screams
against my skin.  As an afterthought,
you smile and kiss my forehead.
I guess I was a good little girl.  Nursing
your ego at my breast.  Too bad
[for me] you bit through my heart.
Oops.  My bad (not yours).  I should
have kept a closer eye on your lips.
Speaking softly in ulterior tongues,
they remain [allusive].  Loaned out
(at random?) to the bevvy of beauties
your re-formed smile lures.  Dial 911!
For depth, Death, or me.  I listen
for the ring.  My fingers frozen in the pose
of [guaranteed(?)] response.