Illustration by Christina Smith
by Arethabelle Smith
seeds of soursop sleep
in their drops of sweetness,
I am intoxicated;
asphyxiated,
satiated.
prickly flesh
brings thick
creams of red
slapped sealed in search of
black grains that grew
of poison.
evergreen weeds
choke from within
leaving
a heart
to breathe
on hold.
humid heat
on cool ground still rose
the sop;
to stained sweet teeth,
in swallowing
inhales no air
for
I
will
not
speak.
