Temperature Rising

She fell asleep in all her glitter. “I have my grandma’s feet” were her last words, slurred from the drowsiness. A summer sunset… running… veins forming on her tender legs at twenty-nine. A summer breeze… lounging… there’s sand all over the dash. Along the breathless curves of California, Marvin croons, as I gather my thoughts.

I don’t own this 911 (Porsche), but tomorrow’s her birthday.. and you can still jigger the ignition. Maybe we’ll go to Sausalito, where the fog hovers the Bay like Sonic’s rings. Jump in. Further south, to waterfalls by the Bixby, for dinner at the edge of Nepenthe. Seals foraging through the night, above my ancestors, in the tranquil of Monterey. A dollar in my pocket, a minimum paid.

I’ve never known love like this. it made Swann reminisce. And made Marvin sing, and Lauryn sing, and Jill sing, and Michael dance, and Momma dance to them, and made Diamond buck, and Andre thizz, and Nol-ya bounce, and reminds you of life itself and why you live it. But when this dance ends…

Shifting, the only direction is forward, the only feeling’s instinctual, to avoid the endless loop. I hope she’s dreaming of me.

Sanford | Temperature Rising |Northern California, 2018 | HMGE.