A definite clue.
She acts all cartoon cowgirl
when he’s around.
He is the sweetest thing,
his smile like a cradle.
She flirts like a pornstar’s daughter
and tells him she only ever hangs out with boys.
He blushes nectarine and hands her a coffee.
She sits with her feet dangling off a high chair
he looks at her like he’s 10 and she’s a wizz fizz bomb.
She kicks and her pigtails swish around like dashboard Hawaiian dancers.
She tells him that she’s listening for clues out her window
on how to be a better person.
Last night she heard a man yell
‘Don’t ever go pole vaulting’
in a fake Indian accent.
She thinks it’s definitely a clue.
He tells her, when he was a sailor,
the soft breeze under water would carry
the most ancient of songs
able to heal the wounds of man.
When he spoke she would look at him,
circling his face
sliding down his water park nose
nestling in his ears
fluffing his bald head with her hair,
his gentle eyes always adoring.
Her lips
coloured pink
ajar like an attic door
he wonders what it would be like to explore.
Giggles leave her mouth like mini bunnies with eyelashes.
She spins red cardigan tease
and leaves.
He can feel her go,
like she has all the rainbows in the world rushing after her.
Empty with bliss, he sits.