Spoken in Ink

Finger tip against sternum
the color of deep red sunset,
dark purple ripples yawning outward, within
the shores of this over-flowing chalice
forged long before me,
fired in conflagrations stoked with blood promised thicker than water, and
proclamations from lovers
lost in a forest of their own neglect.
This is the cup we drink from.

by amandaberlinski

A queer artist and poet interested in connection, reflection, and the human experience.


More From Poetry

To the girl searching for answers:

by Esther Gonzales

soil of growth

by Esther Gonzales

Thinking of Honey

by Mariah Ghant

The Recovery

by Valerie Gregorio

Pity Parties

by Brandi O'Brien

That static feelings when your leg is asleep

by Carla Naylor