In the Headlights

by, Heather Keyser

Woodsy, banksy, chalky, naughty, caught in the headlights.

Search lights sweep the dark chocolate night, whose summer perfume awakens, humid and bare, in the tan plump legs of girls in shorts– bought new for the season.  Their sandals jingle and their toenails are painted, and their long hair is so fragrant it must be still wet.   They walk with their dates past the car dealership toward the fireworks.

There is the tongue and all it wants to feel.  There is the body in its sun washed summer self and the desire to know it and have someone else know it and see how wonderful it is.

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