Kelly, We’ll Call Her

Behind the hillside west of burbank, drowned in soft lyrics about rowdy roadtrips

There lied a heart pounding through the sun soaked grass, that swayed to the rhythms of a belly dancer

She was a traveler, who adored grammar and simplicity, and despised her love for loneliness

Her breath bent backwards, her chest rising in Sun’s reciprocal

She enjoyed the space in time created by the season’s awkward pause between Summer and Autumn and its’ looming hibernations

Kelly, we’ll call her, was far removed from TV screens and leapt at thoughts of blissfulness, defined as those feelings which restore your humanity

And Kelly, we’ll say, was drawn to Burbank Valleys, where none spoke poorly and her chest rose to the beat of season’s pause

Kelly, we’ll call her.

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