“Is this artsy or slutty?” I asked, knowing full well I want to be neither
Manspreading on the stairs
Instinctively commenting on it
Taking up a girlier posture before giving into the fragility of being a sapphic salutation.

Funny how I was sent wavelengths
To sit in a certain way by a pretty clairvoyant, her eyes on a voyage
“It doesn’t mean anything” I thought
Until the angel numbers struck
The freeness coming undone.