(“we are all ripening
fatally,)
(flawlessly. thank you.”
she steps down
from the podium,
rests
her tall black boots,
her smooth,
slim ass,
straightened, black hair
with dead ends like a filament bouquet,
small kissable nose,
to rest. I think)
(that if she ever got the chance
to hug a star she would squint and squeeze, she would
grind her teeth grind her fierce eyelids and
scream
with her body until she or the star shattered.)
(I cried the entire way home. (thank you.))