the humidity wasn’t even a speckled planned element,
or a slight forethought,
but as he could only taste salt in his cracking lips
and could barely open his eyes
as the sun and the sweat beat them shut,
he began to remember the musk-
and as his car swerved past the landfill
he began to remember the stench-
they accounted for all witnesses
and would be witnesses
but as the elements beat memory into his shut eyelids
and into his dripping nostrils
the nausea permitted open door ways.
After he planned for weeks
how to get her out of her
skin,
he could bury the body
but he couldn’t bury the scent of rotting corpse
mixed with sweat
*****
and Lavender Dream by Dolce Diruje-
and neither could he manage to drive with his eyes closed
while trying to ***** out the window,
splattering his face into a nearby semi,
spinning out of control,
flipping three times before
missing all roadside trees by pure-luck,
landing upside down in the nearby pond,
drowning the rest of his accomplices in their guilt,
and literally in water.
should’ve just vomited in your lap,
idiot.