steven

tireswing

[https://fineartamerica.com/featured/tire-swing-darren-greenwood.html]

steven was a boy

with a name like butter

on my wind-chapped lips,

like marbles in the

pit of my juice box stomach,

like heat between thighs

just old enough to

straddle a poorly hung

tire swing over filmy lakes

in august heat

 

and

 

I bled for the first time

at a sleepover

somewhere between the

singe of burnt popcorn and

the nineties television

we played whisper-down-the-lane

as my innocence clung to my thighs

 

three girls in polyester

nightgowns

all differing shades of pink

thin hair, thin lips, thin minds

stuffed tissues in their

training bras while I

shifted on my pillow seat and

thought of him.

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3 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

3 responses to “steven

  1. Your expression of sweet nostalgia for A Boy is touching 🙂

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