By: soleil garneau
you’re waking up in this room again it’ll rain - like it does
you love only a few things and you love em hard a snake slides outta its skin
the facades are sun-faded i watch you walk inside
the insides are sun-faded nothing really moves
the lovers are tiptoeing away from their tryst there’s a cat in a window
there are legs a hundred miles long the sun, reaching towards earth
we’ve all had times like these like a spell when maybe i can do goddamn anything I coulda stayed out all night with no panties
on rooftops anything to do something wretched
to match
my wretchedness
i jumped off that building so i couldn’t move my leg shrank down to skin and bone
i couldn’t move so i watched faces go by and mine sagged / melting like wax in the louisiana heat like roads that curve
it’s fall now it’s another city
there is a halo of rain around your body
i remember the subway
and how it snakes when i was my own romance moving like the wind
throwing myself around
Soleil Garneau was born and raised in New Jersey. She works as waitress, and otherwise spends her time reading, writing, and crafting. She is currently based in Los Angeles.
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