in terra-cotta,
you are wooden church pews and dirty
hands pressed together, dead
leaves in rusted sky, wilted,
armless sunflowers
in amber,
we are naked bodies in five o’clock
december sun, tiny hands cupped
around christmas lights, morning
on hardwood floors
in azure,
icy willow, limbs heavy
shrugged shoulders, reflection of sky
on disrupted water, the acres of monotonous snow
in garnet,
velvet sheets, painted
walls, blood
flowing, burning morning, burial
roses, bleeding cuticles
in asparagus,
eye level
with a grasshopper in uncut grass, frog
legs, outspread banana leaves
in persimmon,
a tiger lily, flames
of a fully fed fire, translucent honey
on raw skin
in onyx,
You are
chaos
Christina Maria Kosch is a recent graduate from Washington and Jefferson College, but is itching to get back into academia asap. She is using her gap year to write and edit until she is sick and tired of seeing her own words (which is happening now). She wants to be an English Professor one day and is a big fan of lime seltzer.