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About the Author
Whitness Lovlie is a local poet from Bradenton, Florida. She uniquely blends science fiction elements with her poetry in an electrifying way. Stay tuned for more of her work that will be featured in a full collection.

Hot Water

First I smash your face

In a field of flowers

Then I dress you up in a bubble dress

And light a fire close enough

To singe the not-split ends you’ve been growing out

Just floating in the porcelain bucket

Is it even porcelain?

Can’t be because the acid will devour it

Your Hair swims like serpents refusing to choke you

They leave me no choice

Foamy clouds bursting in all the right places

Reminds me how badly I need you to go

Gently at first

I dig my nails in one last time to tame the snakes

Oh shit I can’t take it

I press you down forehead to nose to lips

Limbs are everywhere

You’re making such a mess

This time your nails dig into me begging for an airful of lungs that’s never going to cum


I baptize you in the name of the father the son and ghost Jesus

Heat Lightning

Just flashes on the horizon

Arrhythmic heartbeat out of sync

And taunting electricity that will never strike

The air too thick for even a whisper to pass through

This density of water-soaked is choking

Praying for the sky and ground to connect

Cardiac arrest only ions away

The sky splits and bleeds

Some relief

And I wait for it to fill my lungs

From floating in the troposphere

To the bottom of the ocean 

In a thunderclap

I thought I heard it so many times

But I didn't

I'm sick

You're heat lightning

A misnomer for something that's really there

But too far away to reach the senses


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