In the lows where world wonders could not move me, she certainly did,
who boldly set my jaw, scrubbed my wounds with rosy grit,
and made witty conversation, waiting with me til it was healed:
a friend who knows what it is to sit through a stomach ache alone.
She’s snowfall, crisp as her fashion sense,
seen groovin’ in the streetlight’s beaming glance
Or humble serpent’s scales. Coiled. Condensed.
Gleaming for granted, gleaming nonetheless.
Her just and frigid bite with which she takes the apple is akin to either.
Best served with a smile, her charm’s like the gap in a child’s teeth.
So how can’t it ruffle me to my core to know, even now,
she’s been clocking Insecure Days overtime?
Knowing her, I realized that sunlight is never “golden.”
Gold could never be so kind.
Sun’s rays are a citrus zest, tangy and fresh.
Enriching as the warmth they bring your bones, and playful, too.
But man, I forget how to mean anything in the rare moments I catch her basking.
Dedicated to Alice. It's your day, darlin'.