Let’s climb the tree

and sit on the branches

like fairies.

You throw grapes

and compliments

and I’ll take

Polaroids and

you forever.


Dive Bar Princess

We are huddled around an old lacquered wooden table in a tiny cramped booth, surrounded by denim jackets, pool tables and sweaty long necked Miller Lights.  Chipped black nail polish on my fingers, I run them through my hair that is of course dirty, for it truly is all in the details.

The conversations are loud and bold, the crowd is inoffensively rowdy and I feel very much at home, cigarette smoke drifting in and out of my nostrils with the opening of the back door.

It is a beautiful balance of exposure and intimacy, and I am soaking it up like the ratty ripped bar towel cleaning up after the douche bag who spilled his Fireball shot.