Mason Jar Shot Glass

My tax dollars hard at work
as the orange glow guides
mosquitoes across legs,
round thighs
over kneecaps and sandal straps
while my hands are forced to settle on nice hips and sweet lips.
My eyes stalking ears as they spy on a neck shrouded in new growth.
Breaths shorter than quick glances
cool the night air,
while sighs exchanged relay
pieces of sincerity in the moment.
Patience.
We ignore numbers,
double digit directives
that provide boundaries.
Sweet nothings murmured
while the neighbor completes
his old fashioned journey home.
The shuffling of his smooth soled shoes tapping against
light poles and garbage cans.
No compass to consult
he verifies his destination
guessing at the shape of his front door while scouring his pocket for keys
under the orange glow
of the street light,
his tax dollars hard at work.

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