her aesthetic

    she watched her sashay into the deep
        dark waves lapping her calves like hungry cats

         mentioned something about an aesthetic
                     but that sounded like a kind of alcohol to me

                  maybe it was hers

     graying skies blotted with darker concerns
                       and the gulls were screaming about it
                     like damn cheerleaders from the bleachers,
               trying to convince you that you’re winning

she said she wasn’t

              braids wrapped into buns, cat-eyed sunglasses on
                         an arrow tattooed into her back
                    always bragging that someone would put one there eventually
                                 so why not beat them to it?

             and one day, the waves took her into its arms
                      and never let go.

                         I looked for her arrow every day
                                      but even the gulls knew it was gone for good.

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