The trouble with desire and its siblings

after James Galvin’s “Three Sonnets”

lust and greed                            they smell of danger and nearby saltwater
you want all of it                        you want what you can’t have
the whole world                           the squirming oysters
showing off                               with their three-chambered hearts
ridged edges                              shaped like human ears
wobbling insides                          lemon juice smeared on our wrists
slick with exertion                       I can’t tell you from me, me from you
that rise and fall                        the ocean’s pull
wide-mouthed, I want                      the sharp of your hipbone
already and again                         before you’ve even left, I miss you
still, while we lay here                  our limbs folded around each other
we gulp the same air                      breathing our whole selves, like the oysters

 


Caroline KesslerCaroline Kessler, a recent graduate of Carnegie Mellon University, was raised outside of Baltimore. Her poetry and prose has been published in The Susquehanna Review, Dossier, and Collision, among others. She currently lives (and bicycles!) in San Francisco.

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