30/30

I haven't done much writing for a long long time. I am following the prompts listed on 30/30 WXW website. I have already missed days. I am not going to worry about any of the rules. They are not really rules. This may be applicable to all of life.

1/30
August was a charged balloon. A thundercloud slung low knees buckling the valley, tongue panting
wet with rain. August was stripped down, an empty valence shell.
The bedsheets were freshly lonesome, though touch had vanished long before the body.
I bought new sheets.
I left the window open. Scuffed my boots on the dance floor
searching for a faster wind.
August was waiting for the hurricane's hangover to play
orchestral greens and purples across a bulging Texas sky.
I was flint and kerosene. Matchstick ready. One shot of whiskey
and a dance floor. The wind up under my skirt
going 70 past the yellow dashes and hot asphalt kissing
skinned knees. White arms are midnight river snakes.
Sex like murder. I wake up white sheets, shooting stars, shotgun black.
August was the spinning two-step. The night
never expected the soft bright of the sun.

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