Whose imagination birthed you?
The handiwork of stolen
books, a patchless quilt
a stranger’s kindness
resting on the shoulders
of each patient lover. I got
excellent taste, everyone I touch
unmakes me. Perhaps
there is a knack to this
melting in a mouth, sniffing
out the better God, settling for
my highest self. I cool smooth
in countless ways. Fresh to death
I die each day. It’s birthright
tussling with the reaper
brewing neater alchemies
dissolving in the silk we’ve spun.
Kosi Dunn is a writer from Mitchelville, Maryland. He likes cherry blowpops and Pokemon fan hacks.