untitled
it's the moondrunk promises you made at seventeen,
the blood-orange evening glow that stains yr white shirts tan
the chutes and ladders, the panic and wonder
yr head on the lap of a pregnant green field
it's the lips of the girl you met tonight
the halfhour gaze that tied you together
the cutting of the string with a goodbye kiss
the longing that lingers for something underneath
it's the promise this'll all happen again
the crush you develop on what disenchants you
the funhouse mirrorself you see in yr reflection
he meets your gaze but stares right past you
poem 24.12.15
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