dismantle my oddities

with swelling bees, a swelling grip, a syllabic blink

activate my vessel belly with vinyl smog
watch me, detecting valves with a flowering tongue
swallowing the sealed off, vomiting

finality through my broken
vocabulary, quilting the skinned

embroidering cheekbones:
contaminated spasms of sunken
white hot, your sweat           my nectar

succulents erupt from your tiny holes
I unplant poppies                  rhythmic floor thump

our hard thrusting claps are cobalt
flickings of desire, our touch is made up of purple
light and sharp-edged shapes

and your wilted fingertips melt off of my hipbones
oily glow turned rot turned devour me turned devour me, please

you were just a thing
I could only solidify
before it was too late            it’s too late

Savannah Slone is a queer writer who is completing her M.F.A. in the Pacific Northwest. Her poetry and short fiction has appeared in or will soon appear in Glass: A Poetry Journal, Crab Creek Review, FIVE:2:ONE, Pidgeonholes, decomP magazinE, Hobart, Pithead Chapel, Crab Fat Magazine, TERSE, and elsewhere. She is the Poetry Editor of Boston Accent Lit and is the Editor-in-Chief of Homology Lit. She is the author of HEARING THE UNDERWATER (Finishing Line Press, 2019). She enjoys reading, knitting, hiking, and discussing intersectional feminism. You can read more of her work at www.savannahslonewriter.com.

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