Lover

loverMood: Late
Drinking: Done

Lover

In the waking light
I memorize the way
miniature caramel curls
write their names at the edge of his neck,

like love graffiti
on a junior high notebook.

In sleep
he looks like the boy I never knew,
a small stranger who refused to cry
when gravel stole the skin from his kneecaps,
but wrapped lanky legs around
the bald blue bicycle
and pedaled stoically away,
blood running down his shins
like a fading summer creek.

-Lo, sliding #8 in under the wire.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: