Poem by Madelyn Biven; Painting by Julia Cost


Cross lines of a highway makes romance bleed,

our feet become moonlight crimson echo

of the eros between sand and heat (something

fine like crushed sun as if the sun could become

gold dust). I became a dove and dove into

your feather rage of walking mountain edge

and diving took all the time it takes for

the surf to break at the shallow place, the

place gravity evaporates.  A child

bites into a pear and the world twirls like

paper planes. Last night it rained a million

screaming fishes, glitter melodies plunge



I drew you on my wall with a silver

crayon.  Except it wasn’t silver, it

was thunder.  And it wasn’t my wrist moving,

it was my flesh.  I stand in rain and pour

outside in the way embers coat smoke with

heavy grace the way my hair coils around

my neck the way pinot noir spills and

I’m hungry for mahogany, burgundy,

and oak.  Ten staircases fold into themselves

and we begin to fly origami

cranes.  I take a fist and dig wet heart from

earth’s black pit.  We eat the flesh we are born

from you feel like leather deep in my pockets

dreaming of your summer texture. I attach

myself to you in nouns and open you

with vowels.  Down sounds drown down we are spades

in the rose garden waiting to be touched

and puncture fingerprint to cheekbone. Our

minds are glass, cherry pits, baby skin. The

ocean moves into me like clouds push azul

like la la la over nectar seals gashes

on my knees.  My mouth is a shell opening

over and over, you are the pearl.


I throw white triangles into your puzzle

maze, drink your stamen fresh water and toss

you like clouds turn into day.  There are so

many paths of understanding.  My thoughts

are daisies.  My knees are cliffs.  My body

is a soft pulse.  The answers rise and fall

through my eyes as waves.  Desire doesn’t

ripple like a petal in the lake. It falls

like eyelashes.  Like rain.