Ground Floor pt.4 (The Sweeping)

The black dress blows away from the mostly arrived.

A slow burn indeed.

Tickets and promises shredded in the wind.

Her stammering is my pick up line redux.

I lied like she does.

That experience was my nectar.

But her mannequin punted me in the direction of my true self.

And she’s stuck like Emily.

For her, the fly never dies