(This was supposed to be a post with links in.
But what do you know, I haven't found much to link to this past week.
So have a gut-punching, spine-tingling, mercurial poem instead.)
I wanted to write "stay"
on your sides, surround
your bed with oceans
of salt.
I hope he folds you
into a fox, loves you
like a splintered arrow,
brandishes the kill
of your lips.
May the bouquet
of your hips wither.
May the wolves
forget your name.
J. Bradley
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