SNOW by RACHEL EGLY

She lies back on the bed while he watches
the snow outside settling softly
like the skin in the curve of her back.

With the curtains and his attention drawn back
inside, the soft machine of his body reminds her
of the streets after the plow comes through. She sighs and thinks

a mouth is a mouth is a mouth is a mouth
until it turns ice to steam to water
until it is his mouth.


Rachel Egly is a bi poet, engineer, and ecologist in love with all things water. Her work has previously appeared in Words Dance and Ghost City Review. She currently lives in Chicago with her partner and cat, where she catches crayfish, naps as much as possible, and spends most of her money on good food.

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