today is a boy forced
into wearing sleeves
to cover up whatever
of his insides he let
show on the outer
layers of his skin;

he tells you the truth
about his years
whenever the veils
of smoke lift;

he smells a lot unlike love.

today is the girl who hides
her wish sticks in a pack of tissues;
her eyes are always sleepy,
she chokes on the letter 'r';

she makes her eyelids
flutter
and all the smoke
turns to water;

she taught me
there was no shame
in always bringing
an umbrella so i let
that secret out
of the bag and walked her
home.

i was pretty ****** up
for a cloud in the backdrop.