He told me that he liked my lipstick
Crimson as original sin I liked his leather jackets
the new 60’s rebellion
Fuck the saccharine our texts were more like cosmic space odysseys I was experimenting with
not putting out I was experimenting with hallucinogenics, fruit diets, and swing-dancing in the void.
I liked to think he thought I was out of this world
he messaged me every day he said let’s meet in this tunnel of vines let’s
stay at my house eating bad junk at 11 o’clock on Friday he showed me a black hole he’d made in his walls
I was starting to think he was more angry than
he let on I was experimenting with being out of reach.
He was experimenting with being loose he lived only a town away but managed to put up enough distance
to make me think of him every night
this thing was getting real just not real enough to
tango or get falafels with, I was experimenting with being happy and hyper and wearing a lot of tie-dye shirts.
He agreed we’d meet in a place in the woods when it was just starting to turn into real summer,
the rays of light beginning to hold some
sunny kind of weight I picked my tie-dye in advance but he
didn’t show up or text back he
didn’t tell me anything back he
never came back to polka and me and sleek cars with booming trunks he tells his friends he’s sorry and he feels real bad
they tell me cause they’re my friends too but before long tie-dye season
is fading and I’m