Sweet Spring Sweat

It was while waiting
for the other shoe
to drop
we decided to drape ourselves
in kale
before it was too late
for any neo-nostalgic bandwagon

Tell me you don’t try
to hold sunbeams
when nobody’s looking

The only filter
seems to be one of memory,
where we pretend
not to be affected
when the metal song
we lost our virginity to
starts playing,
connecting awkward pauses
to garnish on a plate
all alone for a busboy to view