honeysuckle: poems by colleen cosette goodman

You saw her bathing on the roof

moonlight dripping through her thick black hair, deadened with dyes and thorough with knots. The sky is a dark blue blanket scattered with stars. She licks her lips and takes a drink of water from a Crystal glass and feels the cold gather up on her skin, sequestered bits of goosebumps.

The twenty-eighth of October, 2017.