PENNIES IN THE SUN

We sat there, hot and reflective,

like pennies in the sun.

Does copper wilt? Do we?

Burning like fire, the space of a dime between us;

No shadows. No secrets.

A breeze gently blowing –

but cooling us; none.

The sun cleaning the intricate places.

Does copper have feelings? Do we?

Burning from too much exposure;

oozing down the dashboard.