They curl like ivy around each other
In the backseat of her car
(that’s all she can afford right now)
Everything is in the back
Suitcases, elephants, Risk, her college books,
Her id badge, no bible, his skateboard, his
Handheld games, Art of War, The Decline of the Roman Empire,
and all the blankets cover that up like snow
If it was winter at the gate.
No one turns back, I notice
How clingy ivy is. You remember once someone warned you.
“Leaves of three, let it be.”
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I N S T A G R A M
the pretty poems 