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His journey did not consist of much at all...
Gary Robinson
His journey did not consist
of much at all, a bottle of
Sambuca, a sweaty grin, and
a big thumb inside his jeans.
The yellow drapes of her room
blew in where they drank and spoke.
From time to time she scratched
her hips with a lazy fingernail.
After a while they stopped talking.
The air was furious with summer.
They watched each other warily,
the yellow drapes blowing over them.
Published in Out/Words #3 (view contents)
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