bicycles are climbing the hedge walls metal rats too numerous to count.
my bra strap has grown faint from biding it’s time on a tense left scapula.
the City’s been sipping on fragrant spring air. instead of the usual Saturday piss and vinegar.
in Soho the demure ladies are offering a single miniature red poppy and complimentary travel size oatmeal bars of soap to complete strangers happening by.
i can’t see any stars up there tonight. want to throw a handful ideas up there make ‘em sparkle and stick for others to appreciate.
but the setting sky is dressed up for pomp and circumstance in it’s rich deep blue robes. everything looks promising.
the boys are back in town. with a twinkle in their eye. either right or wrong. no one can say for sure.
slowed my pace down long enough to realize. i’m a head turner.
i always preferred page turners. adventure seems less fleeting.
a ghostly laugh- from a lone child- catches me from behind. it’s beautiful.
“she’s beautiful.” the strangers passing by say so- from the Village to Billyburg- catches me off guard.
one day. i’ll stop being beautiful.
think next Tuesday from last. may be the day.