their spines arch, their necks twist like vines lengthening.
Queer scraps of flowers arranged overhead the palms spread whisper secret messages below pink glass, reaching I am only asking once I am asking you to tell me
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
exactly what this all means
I remember the chapped skin on my hands no lotion could salve, the cold and bone dry air,
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my pink lips parting and crack- -ing into whimper. .
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Today it is humid. My brow glistens with sweat and I still cannot smile.
*****A part of my moon ritual for 2021 Super Pink Moon was looking back on old poem fragments, not to edit or change them, but to recognize the value in them. It's powerful to be guided by the moon back in time, to recognize my growth but also to honor the person I was when I wrote these poems. Check out my profile for more Poem Fragments for the Pink Moon!*****
About the Creator
Joe Nasta
Hi! I'm a queer multimodal artist writing love poems in Seattle, one half of the art and poetry collective Eat Yr Manhood, and head curator of Stone Pacific Zine. Work in The Rumpus, Occulum, Peach Mag, dream boy book club, and others. :P
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