“There’s always summer to/think/realize/laze./There’s always summer/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the rest of our lives.”
“I look out my bedroom window and admire Sacré-Cœur. The clouds inch past, the sky pales, then blushes, and before I know it the Eiffel Tower is alight, flashing like a jolly giant steel Christmas phallus. Every hour on the hour.”
“Our trembles and tears are made bright. Dancing across / our cheeks blushing and buzzing with the blossoming weather. / Possibility is today. Happiness is now. The inhale, the exhale.
They say she wears a mask that could launch a thousand ships and that with the purse of her lips, the white-gloved hands she uses to light thin, pretty cigarettes and drink Manhattans that she would launch them.
