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.