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For a Mr. Barry
June 26, 2014
It is February and we are sitting on the lawn, our limbs pale as the moon beneath tree trunks curtsying above us.
These are the hollowed days, you tell me.
The secrets my sleeping body kept hidden from me are lost about in my flesh, in the iron of my blood, and now they've drawn the boys with magnetic hands towards me;
boys with a silver lining and thin tight lips.
These are the shallowing days,
as he teaches me to voice myself.
He’s poisoning my tongue,
i’m learning.
© Nick C., Boca Raton, FL
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