“You’re the poet!”
What?
Clink of glass and bump of bright syringes
“I’m psychic, I’ve been psychic since I was 12!”
Dark dreads cascade over laughing white teeth and black lashes
Nuh-uh, then what else do you know?
“You wear boots that go up to here;
Your boyfriend isn’t here tonight,”
Cheshire cat smile under golden leaves
(His curly hair’s like Jeffrey’s at least.)
How do you know?
How do you know?