Poetry Corner

The bees are my secrets:
they sting during the day,

You are the pain of
a new tattoo
you make me
writhe and shake
for your beauty
and by now I should
have a tolerance
but each dance
feels new.

And it is here that I realize
while reading Resistencia
that the source of all my rage is
fear
for this dying planet
fear that we will not spark
revolution before my
dying breath.

Shimmering feathers jut from red cracked
skin.

When I was high on shrooms,
before it got bad,
you unfurled your fat belly
and it was so small
and so soft
that I wanted to cry.
Your tummy fur cracked open in sections
and I had endless permission to feel,
to touch,
to love your small smile and

I miss you
It feels like you've been gone
forever, like it was just
yesterday, like
these five days would not end
but also like you would be back so soon,
I would barely have time to miss you.

You have rabbit feet
In the bottoms of your shoes;
I have bees for lungs
And they buzz when you go
Quiet.

Unfiltered lust hurtles through the
rose-tinted goggles of a
first kiss, first outing,
a week of firsts—
tongue against clit and
sweat-caressed thigh, the
tang of a rough and passionate
kiss, our bodies full.