Shallow
breath exhales red
at tasting yellow
extending
arms pushing liquid
into the eye of God
wafting
Oleander dusted by
the winking moon
where
hollowed-eyed peaches
moan, and I want to lick your stones;
hack
the cough of tomorrow
for today is wandering
an
oyster told me secrets pearl
into blazing mars-rocks:
an
open throat receiving a wafer
as calm salt swishes.
Amanda McQuade studied American Literature in Ohio. Some of her recent work can be found in Ruminate, Forge, and Mississippi Crow. For now, she and her husband live in Charlotte, North Carolina.