poetry

It’s All a Blur.

lights night blur traffic

My face was a smear
reflecting on glass,
and yours, a beige smudge
rocking back and forth—
I wondered
if the background world
of the nameless
and the forgotten
would bleed through,
but the heat of your breath
pouring down my neck
showed me (with arching clarity)
that I could ignore
the foreign spatter
that stains the backseat
of your rental car.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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3 thoughts on “It’s All a Blur.

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