“You’re the poet!”

What?

Clink of glass and bump of bright syringes

“I’m psychic, I’ve been psychic since I was 12!”

Dark dreads cascade over laughing white teeth and black lashes

Nuh-uh, then what else do you know?

“You wear boots that go up to here;

Your boyfriend isn’t here tonight,”

Cheshire cat smile under golden leaves

(His curly hair’s like Jeffrey’s at least.)

How do you know?

How do you know?