by Suze Kay
we were not Godly people then, dancing as we did through clover
loops of highway. I asked if you’d had enough yet and you chanted
no more but I heard no, more, and thought the cycle’d stay unbroken:
more dead vapes crammed in the loose-jawed glovebox more
buccal fat to wish gone more stains of mysterious origin more sticky
cider spilled in cupholders more nights spanning state lines more
stop. sunrise service at the roadside cross. this is my body, it is full
of piss and warm breath spoiling a hesitant day. might as well go
roll up the windows and hotbox my ford focus, become the oracle
of this overpass and prophesy doom over rust-flaked pylons, vanity
plates, the cracker barrel. sometimes a sign is just a sign but often
it’s a commandment: lovers leap. meet God. call now for a good time
and miss the body rotten, gone. every hour without your easy touch
is another nail in my tires. I gasp at the electric hum of each hybrid
like heaven’s cracking open to spit you back. I misunderstand it all.
______
Suze Kay is a pastry chef in New Jersey. She’s happy you found her here and invites you to find more of her work on her website, www.suzekay.com.
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