Tonight at the playground:

We’re lying angel-prone on cement with snow
in our faces (lets drown, you say. your hair smalls like cinnamon)

write me a lover letter. give me a part of you to own.

On the swings:

Your perfect, I tell her, she smirks; glitter grinding between her teeth

She says perfection will never fit her right, I crush her against
the structure, I can’t stop the screams.

On the slides:

Her breath is vodka sour on my neck: I touch her (cherry tasting
little girl) please, I whisper, be perfect.

(we run)