This is about the
reckoning
invisible until she
whips her ribs for
the tank looking
glass tinted wild
blue executed on the
precipice of our
eyelines still invisible the
serrated touch on
her tongue until our
oil-slapped fingers are
waving their synthetic
hellos dragoon her
mouth apart like a blood
-spot she bares the
hollowed fossil of a
throat cut draining
cavernous quiet.
— Sarah Park writes from Manila, Philippines. Her work has appeared in Eunoia Review and Cathartic Literary Magazine. She loves drinks with ice and Saturdays.