Poetry: Jennifer Lee

Seven Feet (and then some)

His hips reach my chest,
and somehow, it’s strangely appealing
for its slightly sexual insinuation.

He’s different and it’s
beautiful after so much sameness
shoved down my throat
without warning.


The lizard licks its lips in a tired
early evening way.
I look at his smile, stretched permanently
across his jaws, and I wish that I had
As good a mask.