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Poem: Hot Cocoa

I prefer to sit next to fat people –
I don’t mind
when our butts meet halfway across
the bench not quite too small,
not quite wide enough,
our sides, our thighs
pressing together like
giant marshmallows in a small cup.
It melts me, melts those
hard edges from the day,
feeling us subtly quake together
the engine roaring through us,
the winter cold no match.
My stop is next, and it is hard to move –
I am sticking,
waiting to melt just a bit more
so I can roll off the bus
– sweet and fluffy –
and land softly against waiting lips.

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