Stockholm

By Vasiliki Albedo

On the cobblestone street she sticks

the pepto-bismol pink of her tongue out at me.

My heel breaks off. My boyfriend walks

beside me as I carry our suitcase. We skirt

around the old town pretending

an interest. I wear his clothes and forget

how to cook. He borrows my lipstick.

By the end of the week I love

how his unisex heart burns in my chest.

© 2019 harana poetry

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