by Shana Huang

Lover embracing, tracing your

fingers down my spine, unraveling pages of being entwined

by tales that no longer exist, bound by death

becoming sweetness becoming daydreams lingering beyond boundaries

that efface my body in the cold warmth of blood.

Harvested like another seed, lover your eyes devour me.

Blue sun sky high, I drink the lungs of twilight

below branches where you hear the bellows of shadows

from gallows that live on bleached palms.

In the silence a song begins, soft as your nails

on my breasts when you sculpted them out of 

opal when you forged them in the hollow fire of my tears.

Lover, I do not need much: I am insatiable. 

I am the rusted crown left behind in the kingdom

ruined by itself. I am the redwood robbed of air,

praying to the loggers for relief. I was born in a faceless

ocean, where murdered stories fill the pillars of every

street. Stories living in minds locked by lies—

things I tell myself in the stillness of dusk. Lover

a question written in your eyes, pondering the spheres

on my body, thoughts I keep hidden in my sleeve.

Lover caressing my broken neck as I become

another distant memory.

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