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| Amy Key Photo by Rebecca Key |
Brand New Lover
by Amy Key
I’ve abandoned vanity, since I became a body
of pixels, never quite set, since you rippled
the apparent skin of me.
I’m all texture. Silk rosette, billowing coral,
tentative as a just baked cake. Sensations
slide over my knitted blood.
My mouth is a glass paperweight
to keep our tastes in, like maraschino
cherries and water from a zinc cup.
This is not about a future
with a decorative child. Layer your pulse
onto my pulse. Dress me.
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