How straight the young oakthat dreams of sky-rise. How stilled- the hot houses, brow-beaten in the heartbeat of the heat. How contrived- the perfect lawns like dime store pictures. How bobbing- the tiny birds that speak in peeps. How serene the cat- curled in woolen sleep.

Originally posted on Milk Candy Review:
We would always stub out our candy cigarettes on the mulberry leaves in our tree house, fingers and lips stained purple from berries, watching our parents drink gin and tonics after sets of sweaty tennis. Mia’s mother with the long legs saying her daughter would soon need a nose…