all the faces have become carnations
my mind is flower-full
memory of moon-white petals curled
in the kiss of our palms
skull, papered floral
crowded with dendrite bouquets
and knife-sharp stems
my mouth is full of seeds
i let them grow wild
to shield the shadowy places
i let them grow bodies made of ivy
all the faces have become carnations
when i blink
husks of dried petals
fall to the floor
memory of moon-white petals curled
in the kiss of our palms
skull, papered floral
crowded with dendrite bouquets
and knife-sharp stems
my mouth is full of seeds
i let them grow wild
to shield the shadowy places
i let them grow bodies made of ivy
all the faces have become carnations
when i blink
husks of dried petals
fall to the floor
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Shannon CatesShannon, a UX designer living in Annapolis, Maryland, finds comfort in rainy days and the written word. When not crafting digital experiences, she's immersed in poetry, often with her cat by her side. Her work has been published in Humana Obscura, Emerge Literary Journal, and Bodega Magazine among other journals
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