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that sleep is hang-

ing over you, sitting

on your eyes like a blanket

fuller and more than

you needed, you pour

some into your mug

and drink it pure

she sat next to the red

light at the table in the cor-

ner.

it was summer in a glass

bees and honey, flowers

you could drink like you

can drink her if you aren’t af-

raid.

everything in you became

liquid and you laughed and

laughed and forgot it was

fall.

About the Author

Helen Armstrong is a junior Print Communications major. When she grows up she wants to be either Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or a writer, whichever comes first. She's currently brainstorming a gay book about the afterlife, and her dream is to write fiction that is a) entertaining, b) refreshing, and c) not heteronormative. She's editor-in-chief at locomag.com and tweets a mix of weird stuff and political rants @helenkarmstrong.