Tuesday by Micaela Walley

My lover makes dragon
noodles on a Tuesday. I watch him
measure sriracha with his tongue.
I know that tongue like I know this
place, my home, between his lips.
He sips red wine as I tell him a joke,
his smile stained in soft purple.
When light seeps through his teeth,
I imagine glow in the dark stars
on the ceiling of his mouth. Wind-chime
vibrations when he laughs or says my name.
Micaela. like a chili flake brush of heat
to the cheeks, like his favorite word
to swish, swirl around & swallow.


Micaela Walley is a poet and essayist living in Baltimore, Maryland. She is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of Baltimore. Her work can be found in Huffington Post, ENTROPY, Hobart, Longleaf Review, and elsewhere. You can follow her on Instagram & Twitter @micaela_poetry.

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