Issue 1 Cover Poecology

Issue 1

 

Janice N. Harrington

 
 

Leopard Slug

 

 

Lover. Slow, you move slow. Nothing rough,
always fluent, viscous, slicked, glutinous, always
 

something between you and what you would touch,
the body’s slick to blunt sharp edges, to dull
 

whatever would prick or abrade. You were never
one for the friction and diatomaceous dust of words.
 

You glide through conversation, over the pumice
of having to mean. You prefer to press
 

your smooth against my smooth, prefer sex
and its simple vocabularies. Lover, tether our bellies
 

with a thread. Call the thread love. Bind us,
slick to slick, wet to wet. Take mine
 

and I’ll take yours. I won’t expect too much. But
if it tightens or grows slack, if you fear disaster,
 

then do what love requires: wound,
bite, or rake with your razored mouth. Tear us
 

apart. Break the thread. Break my body. Break
your body. I would do the same. I will do the same.