Paradise

A book on a swing and a porch that’s made friends with a low laying sun

so I grab my strings and take my place and forget about my nails and the way they bend on boards

I haven’t washed my hair but that’s okay because my face is like hers and I can’t remember a photograph where she was anything less than beautiful

I used to sing about boys and dandelions and windows with cracks and the sad parts of the things and people that are gone.

~ by prollyshouldnt on January 22, 2009.