We were like condensed soup.
No liquid to make our time together consistent,
Let alone feed our hunger.
We were like crabgrass,
Spurns that slowly eat into the bottom of a foot.
No patches to cover up the bloods slow pouring tears.
To clean up the mess of shit that’s been left behind.
We were irrational and impulsive,
Ignorant of the seasons which stood against us.
They knew we-
We were our grandmother’s loose buttons,
Just carelessly placed in a baby pink Sadler sugar bowl.
Sinking down among granules.
I lift my head; I can taste bits of sweetness on my tongue as it dissolves,
And fades away.
Closing my eyes,
I feel your lips frame around mine.
Tight like a zipper.
I long to face the storm’s currents.
My mouth puckered up slowly,
Blowing through that flimsy yellow wand.
As bubbles form, then snap against my nose.
Under pressure, and cold.
The seasons against them.