Salty, bitter kisses pass pursed lips,
finding parched tongues praying that the paper sack of Cisco holds out longer than the weed,
truth be
it’s our twelfth one night stand.
I’m no great shakes at commitment and his wife is having their third kid,
but for the moment I truly, truly love him, in the bed of a faded red Tacoma.
His sweat scents the midsummer midnight
and i bury my face in his damp chest hair where I can still smell the sex
In the dying light of the afterglow I can see it curling cruel fingers of regret
around his throat
and I know
that I’m the one that will be taking myself home
so I dial a cab to meet me at the circle k
The driver asks why a kid my age is out so late,
and I say trouble with my carburetor before he can think too hard.
He has his radio blaring ranchera, and wants to be in his own world quite as much as I want to be in mine,
Twin universe roiling and revolving around each other at 15 over the speed limit.
Skimming the wild current of dreams filling the dry river bed
in a traveler barge painted the most lurid shade of green that you have ever seen in your life
Feeling the tension of a teeming flow throwing itself against the sun baked banks ‘til they break
and spill the silent dayglo torrent over onto the floodplain,
setting it free to paint psychedelic backdrops for the desert spirits and fae boys meeting men twice their age
About the Creator
June M. Burton
I am a Phoenix based writer, musician, and occasional junk dealer.
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