this story smells stagnant,
moves along like rotten eggs
frying on the roof of a 2008 toyota.
slowly, slowly, slowly,
slowly,
until the sun fades out.
She's got a good mouth on her
and not enough rooftops;
Some stories are just like that.
She wanted to get out,
never did;
Some stories are just like that.
YOU ARE READING
Today, Love: An Anthology of Self
Poetryit's easier to define certain mysteries by what they are not
