latenight makeup

I am laugh. It is night, now, and the waves
sound like traffic in the sand. A whisper, full
of secrets. Like the fort we made
each summer stamping down
patterns of intricacies in the phragmites.

The hollow, sidewise glances, stolen snatched
from the handbag memories. Like the
wrapper of a Tootsie Roll left
grimed and hiding in a fold
of leather worn like

grandmas face in that picture from when I was 3.