Nadia Kim

—n here, come here
she points to the ground at her feet,
patterns a spell through rhythmic tongue

—n I twist
stray hairs at neck nape
dress ties at waistline
between soft/clean fingers
as she twists my split lip with her teeth

—n here, wait here
on the ground, beneath her
avocadoes fall
she hoists her form through waxy leaves
picks half-rot sapote and green bananas
splits passionfruit with sharpened claw

—n I twist
grass roots through
handfuls of soil
with dirty peeling fingernails
as she twists my split lust with her teeth

—n here, stay here
her patterns beg me, longingly bind me
she wrapped her legs around my hips
waves wrapped our body
she wrapped me with her tongue
and split earth to make our tomb

Nadia Kim is a queer poet/student/writer/ratbag living between the​ Inner West in Sydney and the outer (outer, outer) north-west of Canberra. Her poetry has been published in student rags; her crocheted spiders adorn the streets of Glebe. In lieu of flowers, she asks that you please dismantle the patriarchy.