In Monterey. by Michael Dwayne Smith

We paint haiku inside each other’s personal boundaries.

Frogs at night, boat lights on the grotty water.

You held up that convenience store on the way into town

with just your hand in a sweat-jacket pocket.

I know you for a minute, and then your planets realign.

What price a kiss in this universe. What heart a hostage.

The curve and thrust of you against a late summer moon,

motel room eyes, breeze in an open window, all of it

lucky stars and last chances. Lie here, thrill-mad

pussycat, just a little while longer, until I lose my mind.

Michael Dwayne Smith lives near a Mojave Desert ghost town with his family and rescued animals. His most recent book isRoadside Epiphanies (Cholla Needles Press, 2017). Nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his work haunts many literary houses--including The Cortland Review, New World Writing, Star 82 Review, Blue Fifth Review, Skidrow Penthouse, Word Riot, Rat's Ass Review, Gravel, San Pedro River Review--and has been widely anthologized. When not writing or teaching, he edits Mojave River Press & Review.