She Is A Rewind Button
Green eyes and sequential two dollar bills.
by Turner Foster
She picks up the phone with distorted, dismembered hands.
'Hello.' A brief indecision. 'I love you.' She's sure.
Now chapped lips disipate upon mine,
and I push harder into them, in infinate rage.
'Hello.' She breathes heavily. 'Harder.' Infidel Castro.
Regret the sincerity, I tell you I can't.
Just hold me, please. Even if only for a second.
Opening the yellow door, my day ends, for the sun has left my sky.