Tecate

I love her like a smoldering tree

burning slowly, still smoking

drunk on imported beers

from Mexico

 

I love her like the stubborn cold

chills my toes, spills words on pillows

still warm under the influence of

a well-kissed mouth

 

I love her with all the super-heat of plasma—

two billion degrees Kelvin—pressed between

our leafless hearts, sleeping soundly as the sun

wakes and reclaims its title as the hottest star.

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2 thoughts on “Tecate

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