BY BOWIE DAKE
up close, my skin, rough and round and russet red—from my mother—
feather-hairs on my lip like the grace of god—from my sins,
to be sure—and they dance in the sunlight like vision-spots, afterimages.
i am running on nothing, or less than nothing.
there are lightning bolt trenches in my thighs
and not enough time to count them all
before his lips are on them and they are
cornflowerperiwinkleindigobruise blue.
spotted pansy capillaries spill under the skin
evolving, redoubling, violet and loamy brown.
Bowie Dake is a graduating senior in the Creative Writing program at Ursinus College, where their work has been published in The Lantern literary magazine. In their work, they depict the intricacies of trans and queer love, the complexity of touch as a language, and the pitfalls of obsession. They enjoy birdsong. Find them @bowiedake on Instagram and YouTube.
Image Credit: “Laura Palmer’s Sun” by Aakriti Kuntal