I suck up my soda
like a six year old. She talks
like a valley girl, looks
like Anna Karina. I want
to talk to her about la poèsie,
about her tiny fate line. I
want her coffee cup to become
a cosmo, her words to have pictures.
I lie carelessly about
her. I know nothing she rambles
about. My bubbles are translucent planets,
I fade into my carbonated Big Bang.
She is lost in the pop.
0 comments:
Post a Comment