Your hips are an orchard, where I put my lips, teeth, and tongue to the fruit that ripens with our heat.
I would like to spend all my hours in all my days being a child with you.
My heels squish in the marshy ground. I demolish tortilla chips with a plastic fork
My twin spends our final day of teenhood in a cloudy Cincinnati apartment
When the future star was sweeping cereal dust upon weathered wooden floors