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sophia sacal Aug 2017
You are car rides
Across the city,
Windows rolled down;
Both of us drunk in oxygen.

You are crazy sunglasses,
The warm sun
illuminating your face,
Your face aglow with
the light of the universe.

You are the softly sung lyrics
Of all my favorite songs,
The melody my mind
Keeps replaying.

You are the eyes behind the lens,
The beauty you forget to portray
In your photographs.

You are the smell of spring,
The air laden with
The perfume of all
the flowers in the world.

You are warm cups of tea
And feminist t-shirts
And hipster glasses
And old songs
And a million unread books.
Beth Seymour Feb 2017
You see her in the coffee shop
Out of local mainstream
Sipping her black coffee
In her skinny gray jeans

You see her ambling round town
In the places no one goes
Her wild auburn hair
Hiding the white earphones, the players
Of music, only exclusive to her
Like a band at its first gig

You see her in food stores
Drifting between aisles
With an aura of mystery
Where she buys only coffee and kale

You see her browsing thrift stores
Picking out clothes
White shorts, button downs, black tights
You know she can afford more, but
You know that this is her style.

The style of the hipster.
Just an experimental piece ☁
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