by Ana Reisens

A moonlit equation

Tell me
my property is
the circular memory
of dusk
hovering above
my chest, this parabolic
curve of collarbone, the growing
probability of non-linear hips, a bounded
matrix of half-parted lips. Let this
become our midnight
this gentle
exploration of
every glowing derivative,
the open ratio of space to time
between fingertips, strands of
warm polynomial
knowing, whispers
of non-linear


This is not a love poem

This is your y chromosome,
the hairs of your big toe,
your Adam’s apple

& mismatched socks.
This is your crooked grin,
the wrinkle by your left eye,

every skin-kissed freckle
& peeling bottom lip.
This is the pale

quilt of fading day
& yesterday’s
winter rain,

a river
of unwritten

If anything,
this is a whisper,
a beginning,

a hesitant,
budding blush.


Art by Steve Johnson on Instagram @artbystevej