She is cotton-candy Chapstick on an overcast day;
sweeter than red strawberries in white sugar.
Pink wine. Cherry vine.
Baby, baby, looks so fine.
We roll in the green grass in the rain,
wring out our soaking clothes on the porch rail
and watch sad movies in our bright blue undies.
We, the hot messes, more emphasis on mess.
We, holding hands and getting high to whatever’s on the radio.
We, red-eyed and weepy in the morning,
not strong enough to brave past the blankets.
Wrap us in your wanting.
Wrap us in your drunk wishes,
your middle-school kisses;
your slashed tires and broken lighters.
Touch us; fingers soft,
gentle hearts, shoulders shivering.
She is something so beautiful my tongue
has never learned to say.
By Schuyler Peck
After the better days of tie-dye and moon shoes, Schuyler Peck came into writing; scribbling crooked words on crooked paper. While an ashamed native of the New Jersey coast, Schuyler now studies English in Idaho, hoping her publishing pipe-dream is enough to cover the cab fare. Her work has been featured in JuxtaProse Magazine, Literary Sexts Vol 2, Words Dance Magazine, and Persephone’s Daughters Magazine. She loves you. daisylongmile.com /SchuylerPeck.tumblr.com