William

18

A time passing, a passing of structure.
Structured celibate foundations,
espousing systemic reverence-

You see,
there's this girl.

And she's not. Really.
Really, but I am. Equally, a
squalling day,

wishing
I was at that party.

It comes in; in it comes,
in even interfering, coming, interfering even in
the post-collegiate swag of the smell

of wet dog, or of
dry dog if it's a big one.

Even in clockwork shining,
I'll imaginize her into a red-gray day,
with me on a warm-wet day.

There's a lot of glancing,
and more espousal.