38

by Joelly Cameron

Hot breath blows like the late August air.

Brushing against the tip of my upper lip.

Comforts like the touch of a security blanket,

Below.

Smoke folds up towards the sky,

slowly finding another place.

Higher, past clouds of the same color.

Condemned.

Emptiness fills me like an empty glass bottle.

Barefoot, the gravel darkens the soles of our feet.

Where we used to walk.

Together.

I walk alone now,

As the sun I used to love blinds me.

Burning me,

Aging me,

Dimensionless it shines.

I picture you lying on a cloud,

asleep, content.

Your petite arms, tanned.

and a 38.

laughing.

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