by Dana Levin
Share
Hot.
Motionless at the window.
Forehead beaded with a line of fevered moons, swelling
and then dropping
to the floor—
Parched.
Face flushed. Room flushed, red shadows licking up the walls,
the ceiling,
you briared in it like a rose on a spit, rubiate,
carnadine—
Breathing.