To Camille, there were two types of people: those who sat slovenly on the sunny side of the bench and those who squeezed under the shade of the tree.
in a salty soul
As you talk
they blame you
Give them a blast
a jump on your wave
A draught across the ears
a lovely bone in the hair
And finally a pillow to rest their hands
while they’re pointing
She draws red lines on a whiteboard
then turns to the people behind her,
echoing with her eyes half-closed.
She likes to mesmerize the opposite sex
with a flock of violet words,
with a legion of mouth shut smiles.
She says she won’t finish her plate,
she will make you sniggering
at her nibbled tomato sauce spaghetti.
He has a wall of webs in front of him,
he will love to pause for a minute,
shifting a blank chair,
bleaching his reddening thoughts.