Sex That Smells Like Melting Crayons It’s 8:00 PM and a hundred degrees;
everyone/thing is heatwave restless.
Cruising cars drip primary colors,
streetlights waxy blur against the skyline.
We sputter slowly down Mill,
languishing under sticky misters.
Plastic cups of iced avant-gard slosh against our oozing palms.
Dark eyeliner sweats down my girlfriend’s face,
our mouths melt and stick to one another’s when we kiss.  ¶ 12:05 AM