Cry Me A Puddle

Photo by Lucas Lenzi on Unsplash

Puddles

I want to swing from the fire escape
Tiptoe between the rail gaps
Like a ballerina — bruised and beautiful
I want to smell of a midnight port
Have my heart warmed like sun-dried tomatoes
But I find me stuck on American dross
I think of me and I cry like the puddles
— dejected, dispersed and ugly

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