It was a cherry-like August; an ode to sweetness, you.

In the sun room above their heads

my tongue lifts some two-ton weight of life,

taste acrid

young teeth all bloody. 

His voice is thick and loud as horns—

its song rises through the floorboards as

I shiver upstairs.

His love is blue and it embraces me warmly:

I feel it behind me like a winged creature & I become one.

How I wish to be the best of them;

to be wonderful, but not to be brilliant.

I’ll be dull and full of life when they see me.