By Heather Lawson Date: 5 October 1998
A Disagreement I'll lower the visor like I always do the sun searing into the jealous green pigmentation of my eyes making it impossible to see anything other than the fact that you hate poetry M.S.D Sometimes I miss your skin, the color of coffee with too much cream. I think of you while holding my mug, imagining you are the warmth enclosed in my hands.