Category Poetry and Prose Contest

float inside you, fondle your hear

the sand squishes up between 

my toes like brown sugar

I remember that Halmoni was the first person to call me a bitch.

It is the aperture that we cling to,
an exit that implies a return.

i will peel the orange for you
and in the moment you hold
the piece in your mouth

i wish to be burnt alive
by what i love.

My mother still beads adhans into a rosary at the minaret

you laugh about buying
duck eggs from the farmstand

Billions of snakes

deep throating themselves into oblivion.