The 2River View | 25.2 (Winter 2021) |
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Marissa Ahmadkhani Scintillation Stars form from gas and debris and so do we. through Chinatown, your spacedust fingers laced in a shop window, stitched with some age-old sadness, smile pulling me in. So if we are like the stars, maybe to my Nebula, our orbits just out of reach. Only now, I wish on your chest, your skin smelled of universe When our eyes catch your cheeks bloom vermilion which would be a good thing, except vermilion That pigmented red will kill you. your muscles turn weak, head foggy your mouth tastes of metal and your breath is ragged. your vision and your skin is starting to sting. your hand holding mine, searching Marissa Ahmadkhani is pursuing an MFA at the University of California—Irvine. She recently appeared in poets.org, where she twice received the Academy of American Poets Prize.
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