Sunflower Lovers

I would like to hold your hand but the man behind you is staring me down. The sunshine is in your hair, and we have covered the table in crumbs. I like flowers that look intelligent, sunflowers that look like they’re eavesdropping. She says, “The best girls are always sunflower lovers.”

This is you,
And this is me.

Today in a coffeeshop, a girlcutie behind the counter told me my school was beautiful. I said I know, where do you go? She said, No...I had a lover there. The way she said lover made my tongue curl. I wanted to slide up on the counter and wrap myself around everything. I like things that break out loose:

Bruiser wrapped in furs, eating squares of foie gras and pamplemousse on spears. A heavy man keeps turning on the street and walking into her, “Oh excuse me. Oh. Excuse me.” When we all know he’s thinking, “Oh hello, you Beautiful Little Thing. Did I tell you I like Lolitas?” Take off your red print dress, and tell the maids your daddy ain’t inside. She used to be a wallflower and now she is a raver.

Unbraid your hair, we’re going to town. I’ll wrap you in saran wrap and stand you in the street with our thumbs both out and backward like we’re halfway to nowhere. The cars that stop will be beautiful and clean and full of raging young people. They will shake fists and hands and duck down, out of habit not necessity, into the backseat when the cops drive by.

They find her back in the apartment, and when they pry her fists open, they find them full of dimes.