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my toes are still curled as
you surface to kiss me, ambrosia
on your lips as I welcome you in.

our souls touch in this sacred space,
raw with need, undulating
to a rhythm known only to us: a
pulsing cadence that lifts us higher,
untethering us from our
modern burdens.

devotion in your eyes,
I begin to quiver, and you let go—
catapulting us both across space
and time to the very Genesis
we conceived.

together, we transcend, spilling love
as we soar, seeding the earth below,
reminiscing on an era
when there was only us and
the Light, and the
harvest was bountiful.

Njemile is a Trinidadian-American residing near Washington, D.C. When not writing poetry, she can be found on long hikes, architecting her next adventure.
Current Issue
26 Feb 2024

I can’t say any of this to the man next to me because he is wearing a tie
Language blasts through the malicious intentions and blows them to ash. Language rises triumphant over fangs and claws. Language, in other words, is presented as something more than a medium for communication. Language, regardless of how it is purposed, must be recognized as a weapon.
verb 4 [C] to constantly be at war, spill your blood and drink. to faint and revive yourself. to brag of your scars.
Wednesday: The Body Problem by Margaret Wack 
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