unzip my skin. i’m in the bloodstream.
you and a dollar are curved over laminate,
closing the door to our last name,
leaves are changing from emerald to copper
and there’s plenty of time for three a.m. acid sex
—eleven years, to be exact.
but tonight’s got me sucking technicolor
ring pops and forgetting our forever
is as short as my skirt. take off my mini,
but leave my bindi on—those corner-lid gems
sing rabbit-in-the-moon’s out-of-body experience
—will you meet me?
lust’s just a hologram behind strawberry lips.
will you meet me? sleep’s twelve hours away
and i’ll forget our julys, searching for space
in a room of mirrors, where i can’t see
your moonlit skin or your bloodshot eyes—
twenty-four’s a phase. what’s worse?
the white powder crushed or the truth to be swallowed?
the ridges right now will flatline tomorrow—
my cat’s named after a writer and i’m teaching
school in the morning. i tell you:
i’ll name our daughter kavita,
so her name will mean poem. we name her
answered. bindi’s buried in a drawer 245 miles
from you—i have two cats named after poets
and i’m writing in the morning. addictions always win.
i was your caduceus, first edition—some stories, lover,
cannot be bought—i know the answer,
but i’ll ask anyway. will you meet me?
Rachel Baila is a writer, holistic-healing practitioner, educator, and editor based in beautiful East Tennessee. Her poetry, articles, and travel-writing have been published in numerous journals, but her soft spot is with Fauxmoir Lit Mag, where she serves as chief editor. She has a Bachelor of Arts in Literature and a Master of Arts in Teaching, as well as further education in literacy studies. She can be found on Instagram @baila_rae and @fauxmoir_lit_mag and on Twitter @baila_rae and @fauxmoir.