I can’t swallow anymore. I can barely suck in a breath through airways that are clogged with comb. I feel movement everywhere, little legs, tiny wings that long to beat in the air. When I open my mouth, bees fly out and in. I can’t sit still. I buzz wherever I go.

I refuse to be quieted by what quiets my thirst.

some sweet taboo silhouetted against red temptation

In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents the poetry of the 6 June issue.