Prophase

I want to share a bed for fifty more years 

    when my eyes are more mother than girl,

    when the sun sinks through the smog and lands on 

the     back porch, 

  Let’s drink wine. 

We lay on the stairs outside the Nassau Inn,

coloring Princeton in    with summer steps,

   a green finger,

       wavering belief in G-d,

   Icarus swimming below our feet.

 I want that bed. 

I want your every freckle, 

    every glimpse of  sunflowers in your         

       meadow eyes. 

  We met at the dawn of twenty,

      now, I want twenty more and some. 

Fog makes mountains look like another  

     planet.

Teach me a new language

    so I can be fluent in you. 

Ronit May is a twenty year old social work student at Ramapo College. Their work has been published in The Closed Eye Open’s Issue XI, The Blood Pudding, StreetLit, and more. Their second chapbook, A Sentence Is A Garden You Stumble Through (Hoping To Pick A Word So Beautiful), is a note on living queerly and delightfully and bipolar. It is currently available for purchase upon request.