I woke with the moon
The morning thick in fog and exhaustion
A swelling sleeping underneath my heart,
and pressing against my spine
I can only imagine the feeling looking the way a forest does;
when the cold October clasps woodland on wet, soulful mornings in her fingers,
a balloon of smog knitting braids around forlorn trunks, tattered leaves, morose branches
A dense thicket of somber trees grown to absorb the blood leaking from the space
so absent, so vacant in between my leafy organs.
[…] lyre. additionally, she has a keen interest in peer editing: “atlatnis and you” / “thick” / “gnawing at my language”+ she is currently working on a zine with amanda wan, […]