I clung to your sweat-sweet shirt
as I once grabbed God by the bones
and whisper screamed like a bitter animal
that I was more than the mercy he withheld.
I hovered my mouth over your skin of woven barley,
waiting to feel a hand pull me into you.
I punctured you with needle-thin pleasure
and waited for the home you are to come crashing.
About the Author
Ezra M. Serra is a Catalonian, queer, and disabled poet trying to find balance between the intimacy of his words and the adrenaline rush of the external world. Their work is mainly based around grief tackling freedom, the inexplicable beauty of nature seen through a Pagan perspective, and ex-Catholic divinity.
