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hepeckPoems
crescent moon waxing buttery over a loaf of bread lonely, scattered in the parking lot i ask the sky, where do pigeons go at night. five dollars buys me enough to sleep, maybe even get a laugh in -- i feel thirsty for myself, to know the me that knows how to be fun. in the line we stand six feet apart, like good little children hugging our knot, begrudgingly. two girls with eight braids between them play-fight, step out of line. the younger swinging punches silly-slow like underwater, giggly never landing blows, like girls do, too amused to do harm.
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Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 9:37 PM UTC
where do pigeons go at night.
crescent moon waxing buttery over a loaf of bread lonely, scattered in the parking lot i ask the sky, where do pigeons go at night. five dollars buys me enough to sleep, maybe even get a laugh in -- i feel thirsty for myself, to know the me that knows how to be fun. in the line we stand six feet apart, like good little children hugging our knot, begrudgingly. two girls with eight braids between them play-fight, step out of line. the younger swinging punches silly-slow like underwater, giggly never landing blows, like girls do, too amused to do harm.
Written by
hepeck
21/F/Philadelphia
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 9:37 PM UTC
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