I shouldn't spend the night.

I want to kiss you in a parking lot,
claim you as mine in the harsh morning light.

Messy hair tells the truth behind drawn curtains,
stained lips and tired hips paired with shinning eyes.

Marks left on porcelain skin,
traces of fingertips and teeth.

I am not yours, nor his.
And you are not mine, we are not.

But you've seen the girl with the seashells,
And we're just bones, and flesh, and empty shells.

Looking for passion to fill the void,
looking for the ocean.