We flower and put forth
     rancid stalks
     for the amusement
     of the tepid season.
     Laughter withers on the fringe.
     Our dingy eyes grow moist
     for what must be
     the first time this year.

     I can hear your insides boiling.

     You press against my grizzled bulk.
     Sulking in sweetness.
     Dim embers enervate
     the night sky
     lousy with cobwebs.

r. miller is an aspiring poet residing in the wilds of central Pennsylvania. He has previously published a chapbook entitled Separate Instances of Loneliness, and is a member of Paper Plane Pilots, an international writers’ collective. In addition to writing, he enjoys roaming aimlessly through forests, creating uncomfortable situations for his friends and family, and pondering life’s complexities while chain smoking and sipping black tea.