it’s quieter here, lost at sea. light reflecting into our bodies, not off of them, violets pooling into collarbones dripping onto unbeaten paths, shattered ceramics. hail a mary between shots of venom, red leaves in wayward zephyrs, floating islands, long-dead melodies, the other side of the ancient story. there’s an orgasm in our apathy if i shut my eyes while you swaddle me in an electric fence’s chain-link quilt, i can pretend we are the same coin again. my lovely little sinner, spit on my feet, wonder what went wrong, anything you want — just don’t look back. haven’t you heard? we don’t have to play dead anymore.
Mia Vittimberga, ’26