Lemon Avenue

The glitter girls let the smell of swollen
berries from their hair, dangerous fruits,
growing anxiously and cool, to be picked
out of the air. When we ate them
our hearts became precipitous and full,
and the diesel boulevards ran warmly
with the river of our souls, as we let out
eucalyptus sighs into the dark, receptive
night, and could not imagine being old.

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