her balled-up pink underwear

plugs a small leak in the shower stall

as I slide down her lash

and look her in the eye

 

that hot summers still happen

and quiet mysteries are created by the young

is no surprise

and she is so young

a contradictory cynic

with more love than her heart can hold

 

I used to have a sense of belonging

in the place where mistakes are made

but now my lies rest up against her easily

and there’s little left to defeat.