Hot Cheeto Dust
- Addison McCready
- Sep 30, 2023
- 1 min read
A truck racing through town.
Or sweet, twisting Twizzlers.
The bottoms of
new Louboutins. The corrections
you read between the lines.
I am the abandoned
ketchup packet at the bottom of the bag—
Waiting, longing for touch.
The sap spewing from a gash.
The product of an accident.
Love faintly expressed on his cheeks.
Her straying, smudged lipstick.
Red Hots and Roses.
The ball of fire brewing
in your stomach,
or the sense of
undeniable seduction.
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