O Love, what a joy to be sick
from the same dam, same factory
guzzled wind. A garden of poisons
blossoms in my belly, identical to
yours as if we were two continents
split from the same rotten land.
May our children be blessed
with one more of everything—
a third eye, an eleventh finger,
a spare heart to fill the space
of the deflated first. What a happy
family we would be, in a world with no cure.
Dance with me tonight, barefoot by the
river of mutant fish. Two things may
leave us breathless: the kissing and the
smoke. We’ve drawn the blinds on the
stars, but there will be no need for
moonlight; our bodies glow in the dark
Camille Rosas is a member of various writing collectives, a women’s rights organization, and a coven. She lives with ADHD and a twelve-year old calico cat. Her work has been previously published by Inklette Magazine and Déraciné Magazine