She's open like a 9 till 5 store, night
shift worker short skirt cleavage
enhancing bra, making it look like
she has more than she has got. She
can offer you different services, its
just how much paper you have in
your wallet to what you get and see.

She smiles, does the deed she'll
swallow for extra, but she asks are
you clean? She smiles when finishes
licks the last bit off her mouth, she
gets out and again walks the street
to find the next drive by wallet, that
wants some late night fun.

She smiles when she sees you but
under that smile is disgust, a job not
wanted not wrote on her next CV. A
single mother with no job, a friend
looks after the baby, a job not wanted
she throws up after every meet.

The world is not what you think, some
do this 9 to 5 job not because they like
it, but to pay bills to put food on the
plate. Because no one is going to help,
the father ran out and left her with
the baby. She is strong for her little one
and does this so she can care for her
baby. hoping that one day she'll
not need to walk the streets.

When I was thirteen
I had this awkward habit
of texting you at 1 o’ clock in the morning
about some crazy idea I had during the day.
And you would get so mad at me
that you’d reply in all caps and exclamation points
to which I would laugh so hard at.
But really, you didn't mind
because you would stay and
we would text until sleep claimed one of us.

I remember back then
I use to play basketball all the time
and you would always come out
when I was there.
It was annoying
because you would always steal the ball away
and I would have to chase you
all around the cul-de-sac.
Until you got tired
collapsing on asphalt
and I not wanting you to get hit by a car
stood guard right beside you
and you would always laugh at me
for being so paranoid.

I especially remember the night
when you were outside laying on the grass
wearing nothing but summer shorts and a tank top
Your legs gleam in the moonlight like neon
I thought you were the most beautiful
Thing I've ever seen
I remember asking you
“What are you doing out here?”
“My parents are fighting, what are you doing?”
“Taking out the trash” I said.
You asked me to join you
and I did and so we both laid there
cushioned by the thick uncut grass
covered in shining nightly dew
as we stared upward towards infinity.
and all I could imagine was you
climbing on top of me
giving my chest a reason to expand

I am never more human
than when I’m riding next to someone
who makes me shudder.
I am human as I sit and I wonder about their life
the way their hair curls to the left instead of the right,
if it was on purpose or done with curlers, or if everything in life is just accidental.
She probably didn’t care which way her hair curled. Neither do I. But I do care
about the way her ankles look with them crossed, about the way her eyes are angled
out the window, about the way her jaw clenches when we hit a bump. It probably clenches
the same way when her boyfriend is ******* her.
I sit on the bus, shuddering and wondering about the bus riders’ lives. They’re probably the same
as mine, as yours, as the guy’s who is behind me, digging his knees
into the green leather of my seat, which is cracking at the edges. I see a piece
of yellow foam pushing out the edge, and I cannot resist the urge to play with it.
The person who sat here before me probably did, too. We cannot help but play with things,
always hoping we’re never the one to finally break it.
We are all the same, we all live to love, or love to live,
or maybe we don’t,
but we take comfort in knowing that we will all die one day
whether its on purpose or by accident, though it is always accidental.
But maybe we really are different, after all,
we’ve come a long way, from discovering fire to discovering better ways to put it out,
concocting new chemicals to cure every ailment,
fabricated or organic, physical or mental,
and I cannot get out of my mind that
our minds revolve around the world which revolves around the stars,
the ones in the theaters and the ones in the skies, the ones on the covers of magazines
like People and Science Weekly—inside they’re half advertisements—
how else do we advance in the world without cash?
Their covers are full of sequins and *** tips and shuttles with surveillance
cameras snapping photos as they watch our every move
from behind the cover of the planets who grin with the knowledge they will never reveal,
because they, too, are plotting against us.
Tonight we are under the cover of the blankets and I am watching her just as we are watched by
the planets that spin and the stars that shine and the moon that just wants to see the light of day
because she only knows the dark of night,
and the eclipse of her *******
eclipses the eclipse of the moon,
and the cross around her neck is blinding me with reflected light and reflected values
and I can’t look away but I can’t look at it
because I want to deny it but I want to accept it and
I marvel at how one taste of her
can show me what it is like to be saved.

an eclipse,
a magical yet temporal event,
where the sun and the moon collide,
but it is temporal,
it lasts long enough for them
to realize they do not
belong together.
and we were an eclipse;
you were the sun,
and I was the moon,
when we collided
we created art
                            but
                           ­           we
                                              we­re
                                                       temporal

                                                     ­                        (b.c.)