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