Seventy million years and yet

by | Issue #2, Issues

tender palms indulge the weight of my cold silt spiral
anchored radiant across time
she settles and i
pulse again

once her eyes well with curves chasms darkness endless she
worries her saltwater will dull
my iridescence
oh honey

snug at her chest waves resonate already ate just
clings all i need drifts toward
the shoal neglecting
deep gurgles

wrist at my mouth fingers worm a flesh portrait to cheer
my devoured inhabitant
she was fatally
and soft

Emily Cotman taught in science museums until they wore her thin. Now a university secretary, she’ll still tell you how the chemical makeup of Jupiter’s smallest moon means that you’re worthy of love. She lives gratefully on unceded Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫʼ land.