Ivy

Yearning is inherited. We buy Hershey bars and street maps, sticky fingers tracing the roads between us. Collect bottle tops and unicorn stickers. How the scientists say we never really touch. Something about electrons and porcelain shoes. Mother always tossing her hair and looking away. Troubling us with her sad stories of Mercurochrome and cocktail rings. We take super eights down to the lake. You film me in my bra, the look in my eyes daring you to harm me. Our lovely drownings as we try to swallow the stars. The livid-red coals of our cigarettes like fireflies in the night.