by Jenny Zhao
Scruffy face,
Same old hoodie.
Turned said, “what are we?”
Breath a cloud in the cold air,
Hands in pockets waiting.
Head cocked to a side,
Smirk on your face,
Said “well, do you love me?”
Shoulders hunched,
Still waiting.
Eyes – lazy, gentle
Still expecting
Sky darkens
A voice whispers
“I don’t know”
Hands clench
Body stiffens
Head turns to listen
Said, “it’s cold”
Voice whispers, “I should go”
