By Phoenix Tesni
it’s a neon spell, a godless summer,
children scraping lies off the pavement. the
air is sticky, the cracks are wide, and i’m
scared to say the things i really mean.
i suppose this is how i re-discover purgatory-
by reliving the same day over and over.
the vines are getting too long now, i could
end up being choked, and we’ll never be
able to talk about our guilt again.
my tongue is growing dandelions now. that is
to say- it’s growing courage, a sense of safety,
a sense of recklessness. of course, it could be
because of all the snapped heartbreak strings
inside me, but i have a feeling i miss something
that i haven’t had yet. there’s a campfire in my
heart and it never stops flickering. angels who
bite, mad with love / longing / death. paper rings,
& broken rings, & rusting rings, all in the past.
i dream of you every single night, but you never
get to know about almost any of them. sometimes
i wake up and wish you were by my side, here
in person. gold foil crumbling in my soul, and my
heart, still longing. still hoping. still pretending-
because my heart fears much more than it aches.
Phoenix Tesni (she/her) is a twenty-three year-old poet from New Delhi. A Best Small Fictions finalist, her works also appear in Surging Tide, Limelight Review, Sage Cigarettes, Celestite Poetry, and many other places. Phee likes to dedicate her life to consuming & creating art, indulging in all forms of South-Korean multimedia, and petting as many cats as possible. You can find her at phoenixtesni.com or on Twitter/Instagram @PhoenixTesni.
