• insecurities skirt alongside us, in our peripherals-
    little misformed shadows that look strange
    in the evening glow. no sun can be seen anymore,
    but the clouds over head, black and steal gray, glow
    along their edges like yellow watercolors.

    hot air brushes dust and leaves into the street,
    but clouds like giants in the sky press down
    with fingers and legs.

    sprinklers crank desperately to preserve
    perfect suburban lawns, as though
    no one knows that they should only be on
    at night; black faucets in the ground.

    we walk down a wide paved road, hand in hand,
    and the moisture in the air makes the asphalt
    smell like a real big city, not this little town
    that's not sure about who it is.
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