dwarfed and obscure,
sit neatly arranged for all to adore.
Parched from the aridity, neglected by the sun,
I the bonsai never truly begun.

Cast in the shadows, growing off to the side,
never fully *****, always wanting to hide.
I the bonsai have the capacity to grow,
a little warmth and attention is all I need you know.

In this married life—you and I,
I water the plants while you still slumber.
And when I return, your touch is a warm contrast to the cool linen,
Like hot sand beneath my feet as the water drips down towards my ankles.
In this married life—you and I,
I am pleasantly silent, taking it all in,
That I get to lie against this headboard,
In your old t-shirt and my GA shorts,
Admiring your sun-kissed skin.
Certainly I am disillusioned, but I choose to be.
Because finally, there’s a boy in my bed!
The same twenty-one year old I met in the university courtyard,
Except now he’s preoccupied with stools for our breakfast bar.

Somethings I’m going to keep to myself
Like my secret Instagram crush

-


i think of summer solstice as
a reminder for God to let the
earth back down

it's not supposed to
stay up there forever—

that's what kids are for...




s jones
Jun 2024



.

I’ve let my finger nails grow,
A direct consequence of my unconscious burdens;
Does the weatherman know, Whether
the solstice will reign in full glory,
Or do I ponder this with my own leather-tanned skin, and unshaven neck,
If my peeling shoulders will feel the curt embrace of an August rainfall.

Pervasive yet persuasive,
As I inhale the cigarette smoke,
Ready to abandon my principles, I—
“Turn towards the door; party’s over.”
Yellow cabs captured in my sepia/****** lens;

Gritting my teeth, blood rushes to my jaw.
It always happens, and I announce that I’m drunk.
Reassure me; tell me I’m not a nuisance.
Let me hold your hand, please.