August Heat Wave feat. Roadside Hookup

Despy Boutris

You’re a lit match, you insist, deeming my hair a golden flame, my radiating body heat blurring the air, warmth of breath fogging the widows. Last week, I held a conch shell up to my ear to hear the distant ocean, & you said the wash of waves was in fact the noise around us, resonating within the cavity of the shell. & now, I lift up the sea of your hair, expose the nape of your neck to cold air & scorch of lips. I want to give my body away to the forces that render me bodiless, by which I mean inhuman: no pain, only pleasure, only a body convulsing under the weight of your touch. The fire spreading within me beautiful as a burning field, the spectacle of dry grass turning animate, its smoke spiraling into the darkening sky. Being unmade into black silt. In this red Civic curbed on this quiet roadside, your loll of tongue reignites this fire in me. I want to drown in your sweat-slicked skin, scorch in the heat of your hands. I want to give in to the catch, latch, lock of my throat, the waves rolling over me a steady rhythm.


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