Sue

Miles beyond her district zone, love catches on the breeze, like a river on its bones, inflated or in despair, she cries when she pleases, if it's absent on the stairs, then neither is it gloom, to that other disease, iron bed tight and honed, where she stands and declares, she'll never release, that little doll of hers, why she’s leaving home, all the plans and secrets, brings a quiet celebratory storm, at times in her underwear, the yellow light of feasting, sometimes makes her scared, but she believes.