Sunday. 

Sunday with book forts and greasy hair.  Flannel pants that end at the calf and leave me goosebumped.  Coffee with caramel and deleting words by the line-full.  Redhead glossies that always lead to masturbation.  Rainbow chips of white chocolate over strawberry sponge cake.  Sunday.  Sunday with Bukowski and a chewed split lip.  Got to water the bamboo plant in the elephant vase and order a stuff dog for the girl I love with the long dark hair.  Hummus tastes like silver when you lick it off the spoon.  Roasted red peppers.  Olive oil.  Without make up my face is a hundred different shades.  Red and purple.  Blue veins, clogged up under my eyes.  Black spots like I’ve been fighting.  You should see the other chick.  I joke but it’s not a joke.  Sunday with bare feet picking up dirt.  I want to cover myself in moss and lay naked, but it’s too cold to go outside.