I miss the honey pooled under your neck. since when have I been spilling blood to get away from you. I talked to the trees until they screamed. that’s summer. we are born from dirt, with hidden wings. I am trying my best to drink the light. to dip under the sun’s blade and emerge a different person. luck, picked clean by the new year. sweet eclipse—we were all cast into new bodies under the moons stencil. scales sloughed off like a lantern-skin off a flame. bones underneath, burning. we divine them between our teeth. we speak salt and water as the fish do. isn’t that the glory. standing with your mouth open, drenched, nothing between your tongue and the rain. instead of a naked god on the dinner table this time round, instead of taking a knife to fruit we peel clean jewels skinless and wet. we drip. we: so full of water we’ll osmose into a cloud. into transparency. let the moon backlight my body. let the stars needle me into pieces. I empty. this is where you dredged me waterlogged from the sea. I never thought I could make the air inside me that heavy. each word we spoke a sickle in my blood. carve me from the inside out, why don’t you? why don’t you?
Sheng Kao is 19 years old and attends Oberlin College. Her work has appeared or will appear in publications such as Noble / Gas Qtrly and Apogee Journal.