Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-seven
Spring 2015
    Harvesting Waves
Anya Lofamia
my hands—sometimes turn      
into spiders—crawling geographing a body a soul    
  a gaze (often) catching fire everywhere  
    catching silences consuming  
    wishes making light  
Everywhere. Here.      
I roll away from my flesh      
to yours is that silk?      
you wear my skin in your shy      
(golden) vest my radiance      
in your covers my intentions      
in your gaze I roll away from me      
to you from you to her who looks      
who reads what gives? When the joker appeared    
  it spoke in tongues—suddenly    
  it’s necessary to stare (back) at its/my/your (non)nudity  
    but my/your/her vitals are signs  
    only measuring are eyes  
    Oh bold are/our gazes  
my body—sometimes turn      
into waves—harvesting misplaced metaphors    
  (or left-over gazes) plunging down and down  
    and down and down and—  

About Anya Lofamia
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