of the finest hipster yellow.
she walks into the bar
also wearing a black tank,
which is kryptonite
to my frequent syndrome
of love.
she orders a craft beer,
makes fun of my Diet Dr. Pepper,
which I take as flirting,
but I am always doubtful
until the next morning
when I am in love
and the she leaves.
picture of the day,
donating time
to a turquoise dream,
born again as 17,
never stop this beating
heart and sometimes
I forget it's even here.
maybe this time is different,
maybe this time she'll stay,
or we will both run away,
from Florida, from Wyoming,
and create new concrete nook,
where we will throw a party
with new friends
who don't know our pasts.