I followed your laughter up a tower without stairs. When I texted, your phone glowed like many green bugs. In a pink sweater, you laughed, and I wanted to take the raindrops home in a doggie bag. We waited underwater without speaking; we waited for the train to Gary, whose headlight shone at the far end of the pool. It was as if we kissed donkeys, their hot breath covering our words in the heavy blankets of a cold winter night.
Elijah Giuliano. Suburbs, suburbs, no donkeys.