Girl Friend

by C. D. Wright

When I first saw her a few summers ago I felt.
                                      Her photogenic spit.
I was climbing a coruscating staircase.
In my flammable skin. To be so full of.
Everything. At her age. It is very difficult.
A singer manqué. Among a small host of poets.
                                      Noisier
than the men. Quaffing schnapps. No lens
could describe her.

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