Five nights a week at midnight, he dyes blue.
Angel, you’re bad news.
Salvation Army button-downs unbuttoned in a second our hands have introduced kinetic bear hugs, although visually frail and weathered.
Shoulder length hair and a cuticle away from pure. obsession.
Of all the heartbeats and hop, skips and jumps; I surrender.
Adding the lye
m.
cm.
mm.
Get closer.
Knock me over in slow motion.
Tumbling rotary dial “1” click. “2” click, click.
Rendering the grease
I’m closing the locker when
He appears at 11:55 P.M.
Beat up, an 8 track cassette surviving a barrage of garage sales.
My dear affection is still a child labor law. Juvenile.
Staring Aderol Syndrome (S.A.S.).
Birds nest palms, the delicate benchmark.
I would give up half of $4.75/hr.
Warm me up and share $9.50/hr.
Collecting Grease
Gunmetal blue, locker “27.”
I read an article of clothing yesterday, not from these parts.
At
Your
Steel-toe
Boots.
Please listen. You know the dialect.
Coffee brewer, lighter sharer, you are the Aurora Borealis eventful.
Five nights a week at midnight, I dye blue.
