midsummer
honeyed gleam of days, chasing nymphs
in closeted thickets, casting stones on mossy
riverbanks, splashing water on lips puckered
with sour blackberries, grass stabbing your feet
as you run, twirling hair ribbons in waltzes, spilling
from the woods at night, spread-eagled on the
emerald glade, hands clasped like daisy chains,
sky waxing silver, you whispering 家 for home.
mortal
In this memory, we are castaways
marooned at sea, sharpening sea
glass for blades & stringing each
other’s bones into rafts. You say
survival is steeped in sin. I brush
a soft kiss on your moonshine skin
& pull the blade cleanly through
your chest. To die first is never a
sin. Blood dots my eyelids as the
pewter waves drag you under. In
the sully depths, Atropos nods &
snips the yarn. Twice. Choking, I
slash my throat, red gurgling like
dawn. Let it be known that I tried.
