At 22
Are you keeping time in the underground
where destinations hang like ornaments,
crickets sound through day?
It seems a squeeze of citrus isn’t enough
to burn your tongue
so I pick facial skin.
Your hair doesn’t fall out like mine,
clog drains draining tulip petals
that stick to my hands.
But I know I’m beautiful—
beautiful as Pepsi with a straw
and a plain slice.