squawk and crawk;
young crows flashing,
Ruffled black feathers
flap, black black!
on snapping wire.
She fills me with this rather
that puckers around my lips
like sour candy kisses.
I'm not used to the gentle
cardboard cutout summernoon
she brings everywhere she goes.
Like when I search for childhood,
it's there; terry cloth shorts and all.
She's all tanned legs and braces and
even when she tucks her hair,
or rolls her eyes, she's beautiful
in a boyish
and utterly disarming way. If she knew
she was, I think I'd
Emotions, brown foxes; skitter-
orange peel rows with citrus scent,
like Christmas, red and fur
coats and cold, longing;
it spells longing,
like the lonely green cabs of the city
in cold December.
Gold tinsel sparkles hope and yet,
as though through glass I view
my softly padding