- HEATHER DAVIS with Brittni Winkler and Danielle Damas
- 128-BIT PALMS: Criminality In and Out of Vice City
Poems
KEVIN YOUNG
The moon of you
I want to meet—
faraway, waning.
———
Asleep in the sun
of your arms
then cold
when you’re gone.
———
In the dark where we
can no longer see
I want your hands blurry
over me, reading
the braille of my body.
———
Your narcotic touch.
Your such & such
makes me rush
home through dark
slick streets & hush
to our bright
too-hot house—only you
sleep somewhere else.
———
I miss you like a monument
misses its dead—
the stone heads
staring, the hands
stiff, or still,
half-eroded
by time. Tell me
& I’ll write what you want
near my name