Sweet Teeth

Apo comes home with a new hip, a bowl made of copper that we touch through her sweater.


He was enough; enough for this life, this climate, this iceless hell. You must be big, to blubber yourself against change.

Self Portrait with Rain

But, /
somewhere: dawn and the hum of hollowing /
seeds planted in dry weather, like a sigh /
or shout or song for when the sky /
breaks open and gives out /
something kinder than light.

Last Map

  Where I dream about when I dream about mountains is Utah and Georgia. You: Georgia, Iceland. We’ve both dreamed a bear ranging the forested slope out the windows above the old house’s kitchen table. But when I look at your glaciers it’s my mountains I must map back, when I pour into the crucible […]

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Sometimes, in the morning, he smiles at me, and I think I’ll scratch his eyes out.

[So,] by Logan Wei

you say that some things are most lit,
most magnificent and vivid,
like, right before they have to die.

You Will Identify My Body By Ear

I heard you cursing me, / telling me you loved me, in the same breath. / Know they noted my last words— / Don’t tell the kids.

Touch Me. Like This.

An underrated skinspot imo—so fleshy and erotic without the obviousness of tits and ass.