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Poem: Hot 

hot like
a saturday night
a ten dollar pistol
hot like you know
that tv you’re buying
off the back of
the truck is
hot like she is
like only she can be
hot like it keeps me up
at night
just thinking of her
hot like true fire
real burning
sulphurous white hot
burning a house
right down
to the ground
into ashes
and cinders
hot like when the dance floor
peaks and asses be shaking
hot like summertime
the beads of sweat on your
hot like the sun
hot like you’d have to be mad
to pursue her
because just one kiss
will set you ablaze
and then there will be
only her
hot like her
and you will burn

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Matthew Lyndon Wells.


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