Illustration by Ana Hinojosa.

Untitled

It was like this:
I knotted your skull into my chest
in between dried mangoes,
vaseline mouths,
shoulders touching,
forgot myself.

she touches your twig fingers
curdles dust into clay
ivy swallows my sternum

leftover turkey pasta in your refrigerator
reminds me of
dinner, bloodlines, your curls on your
mother’s buried head.
we read morbid things;
torch a parchment rolled with quivering
authenticity,
we smoke it in your room
a halo of halfhearted prayers,
dreamlike dirt

you shouldn’t have
kept it
under the bed.

—By Sofia Sears