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Oct 2019
We sat on the front porch
Musing about how the stoop should be two steps higher
And that the concrete is actually comfortable
To lay down on.

Each drag of my overpriced cigarette
Scorched my throat
And I've felt like there's a sunburn on my tonsils
For three months now.

You talked easily and matter-of-factly about our future
while I watched your soft, chubby belly fold
Over your shorts and swell
Matching your breath and measured speech.

You commented that the weather was finally pleasant
But I still felt the sticky humidity on my skin
Heavy like your paranoia
Heavy like your anger
The universe had blessed me with this conversation tonight
But the sun always rises, and it will burn me again
Soon enough.
Written by
Richard Yeans
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