Your crescent scars the abyss
where idle bodies should remain at peace.
Your light torches their ambience
a lightness akin to a swift kiss.
But yours is that of a sliver
pricking the crevice of thought,
maddening the mind to a bruise,
a cloudscape bruise
with gold peaks to taste
the sovereign libidos.
With a touch of violence,
you accentuate the airwaves
of human anatomy.
Must your ego burst so?
With a shallow trick of spine
that showers the ground with cognac,
you inflate your lust.
An amber rim swells across linen.
Evan Burkin (he/him/his) is currently working toward an MFA in Creative Writing at San Francisco State University, where he serves as an assistant poetry editor for the grad-run literary journal, Fourteen Hills. His work has been published or is forthcoming in New American Writing, Allegory, THRUSH, Birdcoat Quarterly, and elsewhere.
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