Sweater-wrapped palms
suppress breathy giggles
that bubble
from that place
I forgot was still
inside me
the place that doesn't
care that class
won't be canceled
the rough patch
in the middle of my
tongue is permanently
scorched from all
the times
I sipped too soon,
dunked my nose
into whipped cream
and sank my shoulders
into booths with
blissful sighs
so I tie the belt
on my coat with the
satisfying tug
of a secret agent,
feel the wind
bite my nose
and make it blush,
complain
with the rest
that my toes are numb,
and bury my palms
in my damp
sweater sleeves.
No comments:
Post a Comment