BEE LB

it starts

after Sabrina Benaim

with a spark like two twigs catching. no flint, no kindling
no metal click of a lighter hissing flame. i don’t even mind the smoke
in my eyes. too taken by the skill found in your two hands.
missing you feels like tracing the static fuzz from an old tv
after the movie turned to snow and hush. kissing you feels like static shock
followed by soothe. your heart isn’t a metaphor, it’s a muscle. still, i want to get at it.
dig into it. like i can’t stop thinking about my nails strumming your heartstrings.
like making the worst kind of music with you. i want to draw the softest
sounds out of you. like tasting my name on your tongue, i want to scrape it off
with my teeth. like feeling your muscle strain beneath me. i want to test your weight.

BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in Revolute Lit, After the Pause, andRoanoke Review, among others. they are the 2022 winner of FOLIO’s Editor’s Prize for Poetry, as well as the Bea Gonzalez Prize for Poetry. they are a poetry reader for Capsule Stories. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co