i understand

 

the language of water

her insistence              erupt then recede then worship

the eagerness of our muscles              straining

against one another                 a gentle delirium         i can’t believe

this delicacy is my life

 

this is immortality

this is where contagions go to die

i’ve never seen wings             as long as yours          how many years did you keep

them tucked away                   afraid to harm the clouds        or afraid to get too close

 

the sun is freezing to the touch

i come from a place where frostbite

is treated by smiling

as hard as you can

count my teeth           with your tongue                     give the devil

something to care about


Marisa Crane is a San Diego-based writer and editor. Her work has appeared in Apeiron Review, Blue Bonnet Review, Pigeon Pages, among others.

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