gave a seven-year-friendship-itch that night
to a boy with many academic issues.
I'm out of reach,
that is, until I reach for the bottle
then my soul will be spilled over your bedsheets
while you read me stolen poetry.
I wasn't your age, and I wasn't your sister.
I loved you -
big sexy hair and Vapo-Rub,
Happy Meals and illegal sales.
- Jacqueline C. Audrey
