Sixty-three stories above Surfer’s Paradise, AU
my glass is touched by alcohol for the first time
just as the sun smooths away into a hovering night.
At seventeen, my hand is forced up
by a tongue curiouser and curiouser,
and by Willy’s Don’t be a *****
from behind the kitchen island.
Not much stays:
the bite of raspberry *****
chocolate-chip mint ice cream,
a shower turned hot, then cold.
***** wakes me with a kick
Put some pants on
and we walk the boardwalk at dawn
just to feel things, he says.
The city wakes, yawning, stretching
with the tide rolling ever-in
to wash away yesterday’s footprints,
and ahead, a busker opens for the day,
finger pickin as if inviting
my soles to dance
with the ocean, and sink between its hands.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 12:24 AM UTC
Sixty-three stories above Surfer’s Paradise, AU
my glass is touched by alcohol for the first time
just as the sun smooths away into a hovering night.
At seventeen, my hand is forced up
by a tongue curiouser and curiouser,
and by Willy’s Don’t be a *****
from behind the kitchen island.
Not much stays:
the bite of raspberry *****
chocolate-chip mint ice cream,
a shower turned hot, then cold.
***** wakes me with a kick
Put some pants on
and we walk the boardwalk at dawn
just to feel things, he says.
The city wakes, yawning, stretching
with the tide rolling ever-in
to wash away yesterday’s footprints,
and ahead, a busker opens for the day,
finger pickin as if inviting
my soles to dance
with the ocean, and sink between its hands.