Posted in art, poetry, writing

Exchanged Digits

Exchanged Digits  At the very least  I felt seen. Out of everyone at Whole foods he wanted to hear my voice, to uncover the mysteries of the girl in the off-white blouse and ripped skinny jeans.  For a sliver of our timelines we aligned, syncing over groceries, drifting askew just days later, a dinner of hello and goodbye, departing the other’s eye like two cars turning opposite directions at a stop light.  At the very least he’d honked at me,  acknowledged my skyline, allowed my existence.


Poetry and music.

4 thoughts on “Exchanged Digits

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