We’re laying on top of the van under a scratchy blanket with What’s His Name. The cold fingertips of morning mist drag across our skin, weighing down the beads around us with condensation.
The sun makes it slow appearance, a disapproving gaze covering The Big Easy as well as the skyline of New Orleans. We’re hoping the sun’s warmth forgives and forgets like we’ve forgotten where the blue top with embroidered flowers went.
Puckered flesh exchanged
Innocence for plastic beads
At sunrise – regret
©️ iido 2019