The Stripe of Trees My feelings are beige. Awestruck coins of layered glamour. I’ve underproduced my life in a way I hope you can appreciate. I’ve created this series of misnomers for you. Pad of not, my ulterior neat. The air and not-air of it all. I like it best when we think of nothing. When knobs of bread freeze some youth. Here’s to one final drunk autumn and afterwards, the healing.
96 | PHOEBE 48.1