b. a poem by Eleanor Johnston-Carter
SPRING 2018
for a minute i wasn’t thinking about anything
these nights of barely sleeping bodies curled like quota-
tion marks slow inhales of breath turning to snores
i’ve seen you in a dream in the corners of my vision
before we even met
this feels like a reflex
my sternum bruised compressed by your body grey light
beautiful even when i feel ugly
staring at your closed eyes afraid of what they’ll see
the hypnic jerks of your muscles like they’re my own
the desire to trace every edge to see every corner tears
forming at the sound of your voice whispering in my ear
inosculation two trees growing into one body
my face reflected in your pupils my heart and guts and
bones kept warm in your hands
