Remember kissing those knees soiled in May?
Statues were pointing at bodies, windswept,
as we sat idle at the door of a bone church.
We cupped tomorrow in girlish hands
our intrepid hearts resin-soaked, jeweled;
reincarnated fetish priests dragging
our generation by their strange throats.
Cherry springs rotted,
became flesh-eating children
and I promised you an edifice
that would split blue,
a prayer closet smolder.
We ate lake seeds, tongued dirt
until those bodies were no longer heavy.
Ahja Fox is a poet obsessed with bodies/body parts (specifically the throat). Her tagline is “#suicidebywriting” and her muses are dead things found among the living. Ahja can be found around Denver reading at various events and open mics or co-hosting at Art of Storytelling. She has published in online and print journals like Five:2:One, Driftwood Press, Rigorous, Moonchild Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, SWWIM, and more. She has also recently been included in the 2018 Punch Drunk Anthology. Follow her on Instagram or Twitter @aefoxx.