saskiag

on days like these, we hold tea between our teeth.
ask to be calmed by some warm, hopeless skin

like a thin line of chai against porcelain.
sad kids don’t live the way we used to.

maybe i’ll bake again one day.
fold egg whites like blue sheets in july,

summer water on my lips and down the drain as if weren’t an issue anymore.
the rice will always turn to pudding and i’ll never be as old as wine
 

i am the one to build ice from puddled water. leaking, honest, here for you.
 

secretly written in ninth grade french class

fold your love into a napkin and leave it on the porch for a lonely bird.