she
tits erect, legs abreast
her alto calves command her boots to attention,
just as the hour is annotated happy
by the tic of the little hand and the toc of its big.
set and stride, sure and defined,
she engulfs the gaze of thirsted patrons
and wetted ones alike.
as often as she does, and in care and form,
she unmasks past the veil we adorned her
to embrace us with ease and fizz.
quenched, felt, seen, and heard we are
her boots and tits, now irrelevant
in tune with the wonder of sliced bread.
.
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her spine at alee, our exhales in hand,
she glides away, shrugging us to awes amidst dismays
and then—damn,
that designed glance and a nodded wink
unmasks again, another veil she herself wears
there she is:
your netflix and netflix bff,
your girl next door,
the stoner alibi pal if needed be.
fuzzies, La Croix, Merlot, and pretzels,
knitted blankets, cashmeres, and colas just cause.
"i’d like to help, but my hands are covered in Cheetos"
and now we’ve met her
*she*
