From the Archive

b. a poem by Eleanor Johnston-Carter


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