You left me in a likeness of your image; growing and growing and gruesome. Painting by yours truly.

Savannah Keith, Poetry Editor

Even in this hindering state

A perplexed deal of corrosion

I can still taste you, barley leaves

With the traces of thyme and ocean.

There is an itching in my fingers

To their tip twined intercepts

And in them, I only feel you,

The thorny crowns around your neck

The way they sink into your chives

Or crawl in rushes to your back

They bloom like winter’s cardinals

Or belladonna in the cracks.