ISSUE: Summer 2019
my heaven innard
turned to land
apostled lips
gilding sonnets
I wanted to
claim her
I was wrong
to wander inward
translucent centipede
trusting head bone
with thistle feet
I too danced
through her
eardrum and sank
to her feet
stilled to basking
when love leaves
the flesh and becomes
the broth of light
