though you say it’s 2.37, telling me what love is…
Read MoreThis poem is about how I learnt to swallow. How I forced my throat to break the confines of science. How I raised my tired middle finger to biology and morphed into a hybrid of myself.
Read MoreReach around with an iron fist, strangle land and sea at whim.
Read MoreHe is afraid that her white stomach
will ripen,
stilling blood-black water
and staining sheets.
Read MoreA blizzard a figure inside it I mistook it for a nightingale
Read More