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Parking Lot Cocoon

by Julie Milo

Parking Lot Cocoon

He asks about her job
She asks about his car
They comment on the cold.

Among chrome and metal,
Shampoo raspberries ripen,
Disguising his gasoline cologne –
She studies his face, recalls
Her lips stroking his stubble
Her fingers inhaling his skin
Her body tucked in his arms.

Blood screams in her veins,
Tight-lipped smile strangles
Caterpillars crawling up her throat;
They prickle going back down,
And become butterflies in her stomach.

He scuffs his shoes on gravel
Thrusts his hands in his pockets,
Inspects tree branches just
Overhead. They stand

3 feet apart –

Might as well be

3 million.