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Sexual Ashes

By Casey Aimer

Copyright ©2023

Her neck tasted like orange pesticide

but we were unchecked vines

in deserted Olympic stadiums

growing endlessly on one another.


Our desires pedaled themselves

up summits of curves and skin

amateur Tour de France cyclists.


As we stole siesta light, she craved

becoming the words in my mouth,

to be handled with teasing quill flicks,

let my lips explore sinew as syllables.


Curling in petite spirals we spoke French

disguising amour in a veil only we wore.


Flirting with the seam of my clothes she

tried to find where I cracked the most

until I was stolen into her, our pressed lips

tasting of vendetta and flights of napalm.

We were ‘69 hippies dancing ‘round fire

embracing newfound freedoms to feel,

daring any challenge to our clench on life.


I smiled when she danced in acidic candlelight,

battements melting into pirouetted jazz walks,

revolting against any revolution without dance.


In that moment we were our own anomaly,

a fashion week of withering kindling.

We lay in bed daytime California wildfires,

two deviled eggs and a double entendre.

About Casey Aimer

Casey Aimer holds a bachelor’s in prose and master’s degrees in both poetry and publishing. During the day he works for a non-profit publishing science research articles and by night he writes. He has been featured in Star*Line, Ars Medica, The Fictional Café, and is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet.

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