Strands of hair cling to the shower wall, wet and forgotten
Techno beats belong at the club, not underneath my favorite song
Today I saw a black beetle laying on its back, arms writhing around, scrambling and spinning itself in circles like a 90s music video.
How is it possible for a piece of clothing to make me feel both like a baby and a Victoria’s Secret model simultaneously?
The hairs on my ankles peek out from the ends of my pants, watching leaves fall in the middle of September
Lightweight (adjective): someone who still feels hungover two days later
Last night I had a sex dream about my professor, and I’m afraid he’ll know once the intruding color of heat finds my face. I’ve always found men in their thirties to be sexy as hell, and he is no exception. There’s something about his long-sleeved button up shirt and graying beard that leaves my mind racing at 12:02, too hot to sleep. So I just lay there, thinking about the deep, pink scar that runs up his right arm, wondering how it got there, and wishing I could follow that scar with my fingers, wherever it leads.
I watch you wisp and wrangle, little string, but cannot set you free