“Galaxy”

I sutured a galaxy

on the brim

of your body.

It birthed sun

into an Oxfordian phenomenon

where you whispered

against a wall

dripping with honey

and vines. You’re

a sutured phenomenon

a capsule of gas

imploding in the lace

apparition of my skin;

in moonage and lunge,

honey pours

sticky cities.

The language seams sewers.

Insect legs dance

beneath the architecture

melded with onyx beams

and vapor.

Your throat presses

itself into the atmosphere—

black figures surround

streets of kerosene

that condense rotting

limbs on the moon-

polluted city. I crawl under

the air’s grasp, a

primrose plunged in by

your galaxy. Your body.

Sam Gennett grew up in Chicago, but is currently living and working in Australia. She received a B.A. in Creative and Professional Writing from Lewis University and her first chapbook, Schadenfreude, was published by dancing girl press in 2018. She enjoys watering her succulents and watching horror films.