Heat

She is unsure, unclear.

 

The last call came an hour ago

 

They promised to call

 

Back but still they haven’t,

 

(sigh)

 

Too much sweat, not on her

 

But on the lady behind her

 

El sudor va explotando

 

Flies, clings, wiggles,

 

Burrowing to stab the olfactory nerves on her cribriform plate


She wishes right now she had no nostrils

-Derek Sun

Derek grew up in some suburb of Southern California, and now lives in some forest in the Pacific Northwest. He writes stuff and tries to make a living out of his scribblings. He is continuously working on poems, stories, and essays that he hopes people will like enough to pay for. You can reach him on his Twitter

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