the moths are out, so close the window
Published in RAW Journal of Arts (prose poetry)
every morning, i grip the stillness gathered on bolts // and toss it into my mouth like fruit pulp // this year the human body is caged // for how it yields, deconstructs under another’s breath // a touch, the electricity of kissed skin sparked in summer // i, too, am aware of all the ways in which i am weak // how closed doors keep my toes from freezing // how the attic is where best to store // those tiny blankets nibbled under paisley wings…