not in rust,
or orange,
or an aftermath.

of scratching budding bug bites.

not those unwanted cells
from your mom’s
spit, still sitting on your belly.

colliding with blood spilling
from bitten skin
creating cobweb crevices on the surface.

I say, it is not coral undertones,
It is even brighter
than burning charcoal from the barbecue stand
on the street.

Not of wildfire,
Raging in my chest, because I
may do something stupid
again, before meeting you.

Under the marmalade skies of San Fernando
where the stop sign lingers,
For a moment
before it turns green.

I did expect to see you there
With those strangers, patiently
holding their bindings despite
the traffic officer’s
reluctance to compromise.

They spoke
in tongues,
while you bit your upper lips plump.

and wanting

Jeff William Acosta is a culinary student doubling up as a poet. His earlier works are in Scarlet Leaf Review – November 2020 issue (forthcoming) and The Dribble Drabble Review Issue 3, 2021 (forthcoming).

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