don't die press

2 poems

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New poetry by Kayla Sargeson

Two Women at a Bus Stop

The one in brown boots stands
on tip toes to kiss the other.
For a second I’m in love with their tenderness,
the way the one in brown boots looks at the other,
the smiles on their faces when their lips part.

What about their bodies?

In bed, which one is more rough,
which one starts bleeding first?

It’s been almost four years, but I still remember
Izzy’s fingers inside me,
her woman-mouth on my nipple.
No one knows the secrets between us,
her hands covered in my woman-blood.

When the bus comes, the woman
in the brown boots gets on fist.
Her lover behind her carries a duffel bag.
I can’t tell which one of them I love,
want to be.
I follow them.
When the bus gets to Fifth and Halket,
my red-tipped fingers reach for the bus cord.