because i can spread my fingers
to reach her southern skies
stop reaching, i think

bloom sweet in the space of my ribs
like spicy flowers in the night
amidst a summer’s mist

hold me tight
no, tighter
like the black breeze
wetting our windows

make fire lick my cheek
in exchange for
little sweet tastes
in the gaps of her teeth

berries skate on ice
make frost spin up
with happy confetti and
sing, they always sing
they always slice
hold me tight

with blue denim
she presses farther down
sinks into me
but never beckons

then i’m drowning
down the stairs where
the vents don’t reach

make me a cockroach
make me a cockroach
and bury me deep

because i am a pebble
falling to her floors
stop reaching, i think


K.E. Bell (she/her) is a student at the University of Maryland Baltimore County who writes about black & queer feelings. She has work forthcoming in Arsenika, witch craft mag, and Cosmonauts Avenue. You can find her on Twitter as @theYungWriter.