audreySL

Top Gun soundtrack and

peanut butter m&m's and

writing poetry for my friends on

torn-out sheets of notebook paper, scrawling

the verses in pink ink that

reminds me of fairy wings and

brushing fingertips against skin

cold as ice.

lying here, late at night

cold as ice.

the second his sweatshirt was absent

Walking home after dark or that short top

Are blamed more then the man who didn’t listen to the woman yelling stop

Appalled?

Well at 10 I was catcalled

I’ve been grabbed

and—

time
(itsoveritsoveritsoveritsover)
stops.

there

are
tears
in
your
eyes,
mascara
smeared

today's air tastes like berries

and overused metaphors. the shadows run

across golden ground, and i look 

at our old stone wall like they would in farmers' days.

a boundary, a gate

The West Wind is a banker in a smart navy suit and a tie. His dress shoes clack on the pavement; he’s got someplace to be, always someplace to be, rushing to the sidewalk, the subway, the elevator, checking his gold Rolex watch.