[Words by Nikki Stein]

Women on the walls
Women in novels—freeze me
Kissing fabric, freeze me among flowers
That are not in season
You trace my spine and tell me
That this is what it would be like
To have the Nile running through my blood;
You look me in the eye and say
That my veins are the remnants
Of great civilizations
Flooded by angry gods

My collarbone is at odds with your lips, and I've
Had total war raged on my hips, and I've
Read plenty of books about love
But none of them ended like this:
Thе hollow of my throat pillaged and bruised
A hundred thousand skin cеlls lost
To the greater good, a city of romantics subdued
In their little homes of shattered bone
And crescent moon scars that wax and wane
In hot water—

Women who drink hot water
To feel the weight of warmth
On the first morning of the third winter;
Sometimes I play a game from the window seat:
How many passerby
Show signs of having cried
And bowing their heads
Try not to take the storm personally
The East Coast
Is no permanent address
For lovers craving boiling blood
Think of all the things that have hearts
But don't cry;
Think of all the things that have hearts
That yield to knives;
Think of all the things
That don't attribute worlds
To their hearts
Think of all the things that have hearts
And go their whole lives
Without even knowing it