you've felt
the brambles and sweat,
the curl of berry-stained lips.
you've seen
the cornflower sky stolen
by a red-orange river,
the evening still thick
with lightning bugs and laughter.
you've held
up your hair against the heat
and turned on a fan,
while i stand here, in the grey,
skin pale and prickled.
you know
what i don't: that soon,
the sun will slide across the table
and glint off the silverware
at just the right moment,
turning me blind.
you're not
leaving yet. no,
i'll glue your limbs to the pavement,
lower your waving hand,
tell you
something to make your eyes crinkle
again.
again,
again,
again.
I have been told
To put curl cream in my hair
Upside down, eyes
Straining against the ceiling light,
Curls straining toward the tile floor,
Bunching.
I will smell
I'm wearing the same dress I wore last year, on an evening that felt like moonlight even though the sky was still a milky purple-blue by the time we left, arms linked, laughter spilling over each other and turning the air fragrant, because back th
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