Category poems for lola
this is where the poem ends
you’ll know when I’m listening
You cannot hide the evidence of a fire.
love sneaks in when we’re ready because it knows better than us about timing
I glimpse her looking at me from the corner of every thought
Nothing says ‘springtime’ quite like the smell of your own seared flesh against your motorcycle’s exhaust pipe.
Drunk girl at Denny’s just told me vaginas were invented when Wolverine was fingering Adam and got too excited. Now I believe in true love.