Sweet like the pink of your lips
I’ll spend hours at the boiling point
until I’m bubbling up at the seams
until I’m ripping the threads apart and I have to scream

The petals are soft like your tongue
wetting my fingertips, filling my heart
plucked one by one
until my patience is exhausted, so I pull you apart

Cooled down, so I can taste you
dripping down my throat, so I swallow you
harder than anything I’ve ever known, so I fuck you
wet and perfect, you were made for me to adore you

Written by

1   Posts

Annar Amram, 24, is an Indigenous Marshallese poet living in diaspora on stolen land. Their poems have been previously published in Pathos Literary Magazine and Blackmail Press. When they aren't reading or writing poetry, they're taking mirror pics or making leis with their friends where they live in so-called Portland, Oregon.
View All Posts