Aruna Bhakta
Under Andromeda
One spring night, we suffer under Andromeda
He wants me to look at her, arching my chin in his grasp
and calling her by name — it tastes rich, dense, briny
an oyster cratered in the curve of his tongue
Everything cold is so bright, he says while I slip between shadows, crawl beneath his skin:
my cruelty is to hide in places he can never reach
And it is true, that
I would touch his spine if he knew the difference between tenderness
and desire;
I would confess that I look for him, in every room, if not
sick with the knowledge that it will end as it once began —
awaking early, cheeks swollen and sour,
hands over my chest, as if in prayer, shivering under the frost he left in his wake
But for now, this fragmented hour remains ripped from its fabric;
for now, we are under Andromeda —
Can you see it, he whispers.
September pools in the crevice of my throat.
I can see nothing but.
Aruna Bhakta (she/her) grew up in Taranaki and has recently moved back to Wellington. She has previously been published in Starling. If needed, she can be found daydreaming.