his strides were as long as sunflowers. (whose shadows moved when his heart hummed.) it wasn't often, but when it happened, petal-sparks flew and the sun seemed to smile; sent big toothy
rays down, like a neon sign sayin': joe's cafe.
i'd eat there, God. i would eat there. i'd eat up his sometimes
sexy-southern-prose. and i'd lick my fingers too.