Slim Jim

There is no heat in a girl who leaves a sad boy hanging around in

Parking lots on his own;

Cracking asphalt by hand, pressing

Down so hard, he feels nothing but fading lost heat,

Left there by her parting heels


Here often, a trespass committed, he starts by

Dragging fingers past the armor of automobiles—

Alarming as a broken arm with known fingerprints;

Undone as fire and the moon’s echo on chrome and a hint of her trailing breath:

She might have said something sweet and soft—but cold—most likely cold if she did.



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