Pints before two & I’m smitten. She likens
maybe running pants & boots;
they don’t seem a match,
maybe we are though.
It’s a crap shoot. It’s crap,
In all probability I’m a
No one shows interest in you
if you’re not interested in yourself.
You: case in point, tap away at a keyboard
already bored with me.
I read Frost’s ‘Fire & Ice’ in my head. It’s on a loop.
It’s a mantra.
Hopefully no one can catch on to what I’m catching on to. The faces,
& the jeans & dresses,
short shorts, & boyfriend
Eye-contact is the most fun. I try & have the blue pop
I woke up from a sketch
& there were women everywhere.
There’s no helping it, I stare.
It’s important not to linger, on well, really anywhere.
High-waisted things are in. This accents certain curves,
muscles I suppose. Hey, no complaints from me, the eternal
voyeur, abusing the hell out of my periphery.