On my feet cause there are no chairs.
In a town of roughly 1,400 people
used book stores
with doors open to let the smell of
rain in
are a sort of trap for the romantics.
A building full of stick-around-looks
and stick-around-smiles
are sticky enemies to wanderlust.
Stoneskipping out of
the smell of home.
I do feel quite beautiful
and wanted in a small place.
I do feel quite outstanding.
Holding books that are lost.
Bindings that are one read away from tear.
A place without windows
binding you to the current.
A hot aisle of whatever uncategorized and
haphazard collection of stacked reads
becomes a coordinate where I keep crushing
on one new beauty.
Full lips full lips
low cheekbones for a moon-round face.
Steal my story for your own tattoo
from a very honest night in June.
From a very long night in June.
You are not convenient at all.
You are a whole other beast.
Are tired feet
are triple knotted laces.
You are glue
Do you know that you are glue?


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