she leads the way, victory beside her, smoke in her dust as she drops the cigarette onto the pavement (which has almost become ashes itself, she pays it no mind.)
her fish, max sits on the counter, gliding and drifting and waiting for lunch, but she only smiles and takes another bite of her own: she will feed him later, as she always does.
somehow in my infinite ignorance, her hair flashes to chocolate; no longer is she caramel but now darker than my own, and she breezes by with only one care in the world, which is to greet the tall gangly boy leaning on the brick pillar, third-to-the-left.
give her gold and she will make it bronze, for you may think it is less valuable but in time, the gold will erode away and leave you with naught but dust, she is an alchemist of cucumbers, transmuting them into her stomach.
as she whizzes off, clutching her jaw, her aches start to subside; for he will be waiting albeit with wheezes and sneezes, gratefully accepting the pot of homemade soup, because she is his remedy most of all.
her fresh laundry, folded, awaits her in the corner, ready to be worn, she is a carefree warrior, looking forward to what tomorrow shall bring.
YOU ARE READING
melted
Poetry❝the present was the present, and we didn't even know it.❞ dedicated to kjh and wb highest ranking: #27 in poetry
