Man, those jeans look tight, that blouse dipped just right
and your hair frames you like a picture.

Man, that walk and sway, that look in your eyes as I begin to pray
no wait— I need a second to breathe.

Girl, that click click of flaking confidence on tiles is louder than any of those sharp-tongued wits
and that booming laugh will never be loud enough so drown out the noise of your arms crossed over your belly.

Girl, put down the water bottle that you drink your tears from and put away that open “secret” diary. No one will read the words of a girl still breathing her sadness.

Boy, don’t waste your time with that one, she nearly suffocated the last one with all that
and cries butter and canola oil.

Boy, ain’t nobody fooled by those leggings, trying to hide what we can all see, like Blood on the streets of Cali.

Boy, making me hungry here seeing them legs in those jeans that must be ovens trying to cook that unbaked pizza dough.
Boy, where you running?

Boy, where you hiding?

Boy, where did she go?

Boy.

She’s gone.