in the shade of a
heat wave
you taught
me
that ponies can
still bite,
though we’re gentle
in the stable
and aspire
to play
fair,
buff an apple in
rosy dusk
blush
and
brush with
care.
creaative writing
peeling planets
from
relic treehouse
ceiling,
dangling
stars
like tinsel earring
prom queen
fantasy
in fading
car,
pity you still
shame
me
for not praising
all must
sees..
how long lost
we are.
hands in the garden 