by Mathuson Anthony
we’re in a drug dealer named Wolf’s car
I think yeah this is how I want to be
Wolf rips from his handle of Jameson and weaves
I think yeah this is how I’d like it to be
this stuff is Miami grade baby
Miami!
I think yeah this stuff is how I need to be
keys smell like they always do
the red light doesn’t stop us
I think yeah if that car didn’t stop to
honk, yell—
I’d want to be ended like this:
pressed against you
insides embracing
crunched soda can
no separating us now.
I think yeah this is how I’d want it to be
****
Mathuson Anthony is a New York City–based writer and bartender. His work has appeared in ExPat Press, World Hunger, Do Not Submit!, Some Words, and Plague Circus Press.