thursdays.

gums washed in the youth of chips,

hips sweltering in oversized pants, as ovaries blaze with the throes of womanhood,

i’d wait for thursday to fall like icarus from the clouds,

the november of weeks,

it’s only rhetorical that i’d let jupiter storm in my chest and we’d flood the floors

and summer the heat i’d be forced to lip for the rest of the school week, 

before collapsing onto your bed, lulled to sleep by the smell of your hair.