Poetry & Prose

Dusk, naked

Rows upon rows of
tender skins, resting fragile. Light
within hardened crates we sit

while watching lines crawl by — streets
smothered in hot oiled breath, above concrete
I watch her from dusty, steamed windows:

She peels quickly
the fibrous tissue beneath her nails, pink oh
and stretching skin from flesh. Juice

dripping in heat.
I smell her haunting scent as she
feeds me fruit, orange-colored.

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