by Rae Rozman

Dualities

I slept with your glove
(maroon, leather)
woven between my fingers.
It smelled like you.

I awoke with your glove
(leather, maroon)
pressed against my naked chest.
It smelled like me.

How quickly you leave me.
How quickly we forget.

Consummation

There are nights like this.
Nights you rush through to see
if colors are more vibrant
on the other side
Solitude is an art
a battle cry
an owl hunting warm bodies–
your nightmare is her survival.
What do we consume if not our memories?
What do we yearn for
if not the fear of the dark?

Untitled

Who had the stars been
if not ours?
Creases in solitude
ironed out by echoes…
echoes…
Brilliant supernova stagnant
in shades of decomposing

When did we learn to fizzle out
to deny the bang
of open heart shock
of effervescent prototypes of women
who fly with dragons
who dream only in gradients of blue
only in third person.

Rae Rozman

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Rae Rozman is a middle school counselor in Austin, Texas. Her work, which has been featured in several literary magazines and anthologies, often explores themes of queer love (romantic and platonic), brain injury, and education. You can find her sharing poems, book reviews, and pictures of her rescue bunnies.

_{Artist: @CTcindyz26}