April 15, 2016

they hold their heads high
fragile pride stretched
ten feet between
mingling with the smell of
burning sugar moments
they wrinkle their noses, brows
and look for the sun

she lets the pastel walls
collapse around her
new shoes clicking
like bones on the tile
she clenches red words
between her teeth
but now they are crawling
out of her eyes

he trails behind her
on hot dark oil
flour hanging in sacks
from his shoulders
how can anyone expect
to be happy?
his eyes are foggy,
afraid of himself

in her hand
a creamy-love rose
vanilla, a pearl
split open and curled
like butter
stem skydark, indecisive
too long to hide
too short to last

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