By Autumn Farrell, Staff Writer, Emerson College
Behind my house in the alley
that smells like dryer sheets and dirt-covered toys,
I lift up my blue shirt for Anthony. He reaches
out two small hands, lays them on my equally small chest.
He says
that’s so sexy
fidgets like little boys do.
I let him squeeze. It hurts the tender
pink skin, leaves red marks he doesn’t mean.
Read More Here
Behind my house in the alley
that smells like dryer sheets and dirt-covered toys,
I lift up my blue shirt for Anthony. He reaches
out two small hands, lays them on my equally small chest.
He says
that’s so sexy
fidgets like little boys do.
I let him squeeze. It hurts the tender
pink skin, leaves red marks he doesn’t mean.
Read More Here