Updated: Dec 15, 2019
She gained more freckles in New York. Her nearly iridescent skin now dotted with grace. Her constant delay she blamed on the trains. She moved through my apartment with such presence. Her skirts always too short as she spun for me all the same. “C’est la vie,” she’d say. She’s so carefree. Drinking espresso on her balcony in the afternoon, and I kiss her smooth, bacardi infused lips somewhere between witching hour and the sunrise.
Kayla Bush is a creative writing and publishing/editing double major at Susquehanna University. She has served on a poetry reading board for Rivercraft and has been a copy editor for Flagship. She was a guest poetry editor for AntiHeroin Chic and is currently their nonfiction editor. She is from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and this is her first time being published by an online literary magazine. Find her on Twitter @writeaway17.