Untitled 2
I know why Freddie isn’t looking
at the pretty woman
across him
inside the jeepney.
He’s got other things in mind--
like a nice shirt he saw in a shop,
a puff of cigarette at the next stop
or meeting up with Carlos
for a plate of pasta.
I know why Freddie isn’t looking at her.
He’s smiling in between
browsing through an inbox of fifteen.
I know why Freddie isn’t looking.
He’s seeing someone.
The jeepney halts in front of a pasta restaurant.
lookbook.nu link
i put the 'art' in 'sartorial'
- ryen paulo
- a critic surgically implanted with raised left eyebrow, sharp eyesight, delusional blurts and dishy perspectives. call me a conceited, conniving chic cow and i'll call you my favorite bitch.
