Little girls use your full name, little boys rip their noses on rusty nails on bunk beds, on floor boards.
Tick, tick, tick.
Little girls who have scratches on their backs and ant hills in their lungs, my "aunts always sting more than yours do "
Tick, tick, tick.
Orange walls, and pastel purple primrose grows ten feet high, and the red light district was never made out of butterfly wings anyways, boys and.... you.
Tick tick tick.
Bricks on bricks on six, and rainbow roads and commitment issues, and you.
Tick tick tick.
Holding hands the French way, crawling to the beach, Poet love and the mentally disturbed.
Tick tick tick.
Lips on lips and hands on hips, and hot summer nights and " just whatever feels natural" and you.
Tick tick tick
Your hands on my hands on my hands walking sticks, his lips never felt more eons ago, never felt more galaxies away.