JOIN THE MARCHES IF YOU ARE ABLE
Nov 05, 2020
0 minutes
Poem by Veronica Mattaboni
Illustration by Connie Noble
I don't make amy love what to dowith his body but his bonesare made of teacups & I keep picturingelbows at collarbone level, cocked& loaded like rubber bullets& rubber bullets& steel toed riot shields& shins in iron-creased bluepressing against porcelainporcelainporcelainI kiss his lips and try not to drinka ghost that doesn't existyet
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