Illustration by Christina Smith

by Arethabelle Smith

seeds of soursop sleep 

in their drops of sweetness, 

I am intoxicated;




prickly flesh 

brings thick

creams of red

slapped sealed in search of 

black grains that grew 

of poison.


evergreen weeds

choke from within 


a heart 

to breathe

 on hold.


humid heat 

on cool ground still rose

the sop;

to stained sweet teeth, 


in swallowing

 inhales no air







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