By Monique Sheppherd

Feeling his breath against my thighs,
behind my neck, and around my hair,
slows my pulse to a steady pace.

I let him push me back and forth,
sometimes in quick,
barely noticeable circles.

Streetlights are miniature suns
and when I look through my smudged lenses,
their orange glow leaves halos in my eyes.

We’re pendulums together,
until sunrise strolls down the street,
and knocks each light out with his cane.

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