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.