dust amassed, a pattern of california lilies across the stained wood table in the kitchen, roasted
notes of bitter root hit my tongue it burns like dry ice, a warning of summer days to come the
past rolls through my mind,
a hot needle poking at my brain — and there’s only one way back out.

you travel by way of inconvenience, he tells me,
i don’t know how he means it
the door is my only move,
past the kitchen, up the stairs,
through the walls that mark home
though i can’t see through the wreckage of cars
lining the street like rose bushes.

somewhere, in here, lies a shadow
like a needle in a haystack of
filth and flakes,
a sickly feeling persists,
you don’t need to drive me home, he says,
i stay in the good corner while he grows in size

it hits my nose, straight through the cavity,
sharp, acidic, invasive,
a seasonal shift, the gravitational pull of it all
bouncing a scorched-earth melody through the air
a sticky tang that wakes me, one night, at 2am
maybe i dreamt it, me and you, and yet
i count seven tires on the pavement this morning

Max Kennedy (he/they) has a diverse creative background in poetry, theatre, comedy, film, and
scriptwriting, with a Bachelor’s degree in English – Creative Writing from San Francisco State
University. Alongside a deep love for romcom films (the late 90s, early 2000s, the better) and
queer romcom novels, he is a professional beauty copywriter in his day-to-day. He has several
poetry publications to his credit, including Yes Poetry (in the ebook THE QUEER BODY), Luna
Luna Magazine, Interlude Magazine, The Ana and more.