Natalia

Bending smiles to blonde seats, the kids who drink wine, laugh up from the Bleachers, a twisted smile between, wooden decks that blind, soften cool blue evenings, she sees the creep of moon, regular as the lemon night, dance sourballs in her glass, men who only want room, to enlighten their lives, love the way she loves them, but the goal, the jewel, escapes each time, only makes them drool, sikn laughter at such scenes, nothing can entwine, her great sense of being, she’s never frightened.