by Cecilia Devine


What would you think
If I told you
I dreamt of
your open-mouthed kisses on my neck
your touch against my leg-
stained with the Redwood Earth?
You and I hidden altogether by
A canopy of trees.
I could have grown up in this forest.

I fell in love with your hands first.
The same way I fell in love
With Nabokov and Poe-
And their stained glass sapphire desires
From a time so long ago.

My angel’s limbs
Hang out of car windows
And cross over each other
While I wait at a bus stop.
They curl around your torso
They hang limp over your shoulder.

I scrape my knees
Climbing maple trees
(and you ask if I bleed syrup)
Taste it for yourself and see,
Mistake me for too sweet a thing,
Leave my cuts to get infected.

Have you become
the poison in the wound?
But still I dream
And bleed.


I conjure images within myself
Of what a star should be.
Bright, gaseous, full of light,
Unbenounced to eternity.
I ask myself why it takes
Something so heavenly
For me to feel like a part of anything.
My elements are that of the universe,
Well, at least partially,
Stars connect- and perhaps dissect,
More than constellations,
The intricacies of humanity.
They say stars fly, as do you and I,
At a touch or lowly whisper.
This may make no sense,
And I must confess,
I am hardly a philosopher.
But I would likely bet
You know at least of our sun.
A driving force,
Of day, of life, of unity.

About the Author:

Cecilia Devine is a young aspiring writer from a small town in Vermont. She has been published in the literary magazines “Between Ranges” and “3 Elements Review”. Outside of writing, she participates in activism concerning Human Rights, open mics, theatre, and art. She is also one of the leaders of her local Queer Straight Alliance, and hopes to start a pride celebration in her home town.