Alixa Brobbey

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Your lips are melting petals,
Wilting into my mouth.
My tears not clear
Enough to revive them.

When you learn to fly,
Will they forget to dance?
Lose their maypole eyelashes
And languish, lonely, with
Wings cut.

And yet,
I pray, make me a bouquet &
For six weeks these brown arms
Will be your liquid vase.

When your yellow leafs ashy bleed,
I’ll squeeze them between
The crinkly pages of my teeth.

There to bloom ad infinitum,
My mouth a perfumed grave.

ALIXA BROBBEY spent portions of her childhood in both the Netherlands and Ghana before traveling to study English at Brigham Young University. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Canvas, Blue Marble Review, the Battering Ram, Segullah, Inscape, the Albion Review, the Susquehanna Review, and others.