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  • Adrian Slonaker

Skin Hunger

Skin Hunger

If skin hunger

were a health emergency

recognized by the World Health Organization,

Gillian’s gentle face would be

plastered on depressing posters

prepared to promote awareness.

She hasn’t done the deed since her divorce

was finalized fifteen years ago

and has misplaced the self-esteem to

foray into physical affection,

especially the sort that requires

copious quantities of exposed flesh.

Bleakly bundled up

in the microtundra of Mosimann Gardens,

she waxes severe before buying

a box of cheap chocolate drops,

a chaser to the heart-shaped pizza

that will grease her fingertips

til they glisten like De Beers diamonds

during her Valentine’s dinner-for-one

while she devours a dreamy Doris Day romcom

in the king-size bed where later she’ll

promote her pillow to patient lover.

—Adrian Slonaker


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