By Meredith Olsson
His peach fuzz drips
with juice and honey,
rivulets down
a chin, cleft
like the hooves
of the goats who are scattered
on granite cliffs, fleeced,
jealous, flat pupils
thick and flush
on the horizon, narrowed
towards apricot sun
and my pear-shaped body.
Citrus-sticky words
run syruped and salty down
my throat, leave film on backs
of teeth, bite marks
on my phrases and
his nectarines. Raspberry vines
and honesty clutch
my thin ribs like Ugolino’s sons, and
goats’ begging bleats echo,
but I am Echo
repeating honeysuckle and wine.
Meredith Olsson is a senior-year college student at Berry College in Rome, GA. When she graduates in May she hopes to delve further into the literary world. You can follow her on Instagram @mer_maiden_
