Your name is the capillary line
of sugar on the rim sweating
blue fizz, the truth is
orange soda is sweet like your name
splashes water onto my face
like a cold “good morning.”
It shrieks neon
like purple pressed
on nectar necks
through the peach fuzzy spectrum
of ballroom dancing to techno music.
Your name is a text over a gas station sandwich:
“It’s not going to work out”
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.