By K. Lewis

You remind me

Of a very gentle
little girl I once
watched picking flowers
When my hands come away red
I’ll pour kojic honey 
into the holes in my palms where

thistle thorns drew blood
sweet and rosy-fingered (like the chronicled Selenian woman)

I’ll chase the harshness of bitter
citrus from

my body
	shoo away sly Aphrodite (soft as she is)
	and sit and weave beside my mother
I’ll encase
	myself in resin
so my bones outgrow my skin and
let me burst
so my insides

leave stains
and all that remains may be

a very gentle little girl
picking flowers

K. Lewis is a poet and fiction writer from New York. Her last work, Panem et Circenses, was published in Wintermute Literary Magazine, and she is currently working on her very first novel. When she isn’t mapping out subplots, K can be found attempting (and failing) to learn to crochet or rewatching The Truman Show for the hundredth time. She will be attending McGill University in Montréal in the fall. Follow her on Twitter @auuaiek !

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