three from october
last night i dreamt of you & woke up weeping
constellation struck restless.
glistening. split-tongued, i know no other language
than love, & with the low tide, i shed it, snakeskin reborne.
last night i drowned & woke up withered,
this saltwater ocean a blade to my chest,
my hands scrabbling for just a little more life.
after you left, hollow i stayed.
how must i reconcile with myself? what beauty
may i steal, rip away from the stars?
before she slashed the sky apart, a glissando of
violent light, my mother gave me only
a taste of yearning, a taste of aching.
last night i dreamt of you, cocooned in silk.
you couldn’t leave trapped in metamorphosis.
i want my nails to erupt from their beds,
become blades made for slaughter.
my veins my arteries empty, i would split this skin,
dilute my joy. let my lungs become liquid luck
before the sky darkens. change has ripped my heart out
& i will not remember the agony.
we were butterflies in glass bottles, &
last night i dreamt of you taking to the air,
leaving it all behind.
Ivi Hua is a dreamer, writer, and poet based in the United States. She has a deep love for the sea and the sky, and you can find her @livia.writes.stories on Instagram. Her works have been published in Paper Crane Journal, Juven, and Outlander Zine among others.