​PUBLISHED IN HYPHEN LITERARY & ARTS MAGAZINE

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While squeezing honey out of a jar,

I saw the shadow of a girl
            in the weeping sunset
I heard the whisper of her voice
            simmering in golden-hues
I felt her near, felt something
            brushing across my fingertips
A hot breeze curling
            her summer Sunday dress
Bird-cries, falling droplets
            rain shaken off trees
I saw that her toenails were painted
            red, her legs—so delicate—
Honeyed sun dripping downwards
            in the waning light I could hear
Her calling my name, whispering of
            gauzy, shimmering things, of
Flesh untouched, lingering
            inside the silken slouch of her
Sunday best, she smiling, only for me
            dimpled cheeks, that little face
Turned up to me, her fingers
            curled up into mine
She hums and a fragrant field
            of meadow-grass appears
Beneath her feet, the tune so sweet
            I want to lick it off her lips
The world cracks.

“Honey, are you all right?

            There’s glass everywhere.””