Reid@YWP

She’s lived here 

     most of her life 

She never thought 

     that would change. 

Love is a gas station chain in the Midwest. 

Love is little girls with Mary Janes spreading kisses around the playground.  

Love is little boys who claim to hate them.  

When you languidly grazed hands with a Woman, 
had you seen your reflection in Her irises? 
Had you wished you could drown in that yearning black void? 

Your laughter reminds me of the shoreline  

as the tide goes in and out,  

as fireworks pulse overhead,   

your favorite beach towel with the toadstools