this town breathes a sigh
of relief when i’ve left
my feet too heavy
on its streets.
sometimes, when we sit
inside on sunday mornings,
the waitress comes by
with the coffee, and i pretend
i’m somewhere else. a ski chalet
where the syrup is thick
like the snow and no one
has seen me before.
let me breathe- this altitude
suffocates me.
3 comments:
oh bri, you're so poetic, artsy and chic.
thanks for the sarcasm r :p
i'm sending that circle journal soon... i promise!
i told you not to send it to me... i like good ole fashioned scratch paper
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