One Hundred and Thirteen.


Izzy circle


onion-skinned, your eyes open slowly
like you’re not ready to see this

peeled raw, looking right into the thick of it
under the skin, down where the red bits lie

and the beat rattles bones dry
you keep waking up from dream after dream


Sarah circle


Dust soared down from the ceiling
Like a benediction
Anointed our heads with gold
Swarmed in through our nostrils
And burbled away in our blood
Swept lazily across our lips, our lashes
And left the air reeking of electrical fire



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