an L.A. story
of smog-masked stars — divided
by the water of your infinity pool
i float, blind to the edge
never knowing how close i am to falling
alexa plays that indie
artist you discovered on bandcamp
while high on blueberry morning.
you’d rather listen to him than me —
he makes you cultured
the midnight breeze forces your scent
into me, flooding my airways with the
sun-soaked citrus of a california boy
with your tangled bun and nine o’clock shadow —
you wear shades at night because they’re
“prescription” — and everyone loves it.
your attention is the currency you use to
run your freckled nose along bare stomachs
until it’s buried between thighs. we crave to become
the reflection in your eyes — to
be the version of ourselves that others
see through you.
spilling into the canyon grows louder as you
watch me from your ikea lounge chair — hunched over
ripped jeans, poolside. the water slips into the
unseemly creases of my natural body — highlighting all
my wet imperfections
i make you beautiful
the song comes to its clunky end and an ad plays —
telling you to buy tickets to some film festival (which
you will) and say they’re a gift.
i roll, clumsily splashing the water — sweeping
the sky from view, submerging my face in the
chlorinated primordial ale
until i become nothing but liquid
Vesper North is a writer, artist, and performer. Their work has been featured in Kaleidoscope Magazine (United Disability Services of Akron), Creation, Meditating Cat Zine, and Ouroboros Magazine. Additionally, they are an assistant editor at TAB Journal of Poetry & Poetics. They like wine, cats, and Irish goodbyes.