A hipster couple, probably longterm
(if not it feels like it to both of them),
browse a market in impossible jeans.
They shimmy from one stall to the next
with excruciatingly practiced grins, but
it's the way she nibbles her little fingernails
and how he holds the back of his neck
that give them both away.
He doesn't like the way she scowls at his friends
or how she makes him wear "found" clothing,
and how every new thing she introduces him to
he has done too many times before.
She can't stand how much he thinks
about everything that isn't her and how
he doesn't drop her name in every sentence
on the rare occassion he's let off the leash.
Being seen together rather than alone
is exactly what makes them work,
even though they ignore the signs
that they've put up on their own walls
like how quickly words become prison cells
and naked bodies turn into burning bridges
or that time does not heal all wounds
it just replaces them with new ones.