LOVER GIRL

Your astral loitering & tattooed beauty mark always
kick down my phosphenic door, these dreams. Your visitation, please visit me.

We were at the funeral. Right—a boy, our boy, dead as a doornail. Incapable of desire.
Right, you fucked a junkie in the graveyard thickets,
then picked off grasses from your skirt. Waved at me.
I memorized it—your red-flag cunt in foliage, legs a praying mantis.
Right, we left. We did whatever our boy might think was funny.
I told off everything circadian. Watched you rev up the apricot tree by
stealing its pinks.
Exhaled inhalants scatter-shotted Heaven & our plastic bags were bruised.
Saliva-white moon. I thought fucking in the bushes was pretty funny.

But this is about you. Fingernails red-rose-up his torso, color on shadow. No.
About how desire is the body of God. Tongues clung to scabs superimposed
roots to bones below. Your blissed-out skirt landed & made a circle. He is a
circle. No. It’s about how possession is the center of a circle. You drew a line
as you flaunted hip-shook back to elegies not bringing our boy back. We left.
Memory, don’t move. What else did we do to make him laugh? Stars spun
exhausted just to want stasis back. I blinked & butane haloed your smirk.
I was scared to kick dumpsters, scatter garbage past his laughter, his decomposing gasps.
Time killed the lights. It didn’t eclipse your waifish torso & ass. No.
I failed to want everything. You non-stop regrowth, you one living desire.
Visitation, please visit me. Visitation, please visit me.

Jo O'Lone-Hahn is a poet and visual artist based in Las Vegas. Her work can be found in Boston Hassle, BAG Magazine, and HASH Journal, with work forthcoming in The Tampa Review, Great River Review, and SPECTRA Poets. She is a current MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and is the incoming poetry editor of Witness Magazine. joolonehahn.com