Mark Jankowski

Toothpick

How "i love you' Really Feels

Zoya Davis

stop using me like some cheap whore whose number belongs on a bathroom stall above the glory hole

no, you probably don’t love him, or her, or....that

stop confusing me with my sister, "i love that thing you do with your mouth"

or my cousin, "i love how you make me feel"

please refrain from using me on the first date or 50 times in the 10 voicemails you'll leave your ex after the 5th bad breakup

stop using me as a pick up line for losing your virginity,

i don’t like to be mistaken for, " I’m desperate and horny"

instead save me for the 2 am poetry and sleepless nights of realization

save me for the days when you wake up and are confronted by an unforgiving mirror

save me for the spontaneous first kisses or the hundredth kiss avoid using me during those Ben and Jerry's at 12 am nights to the boy who broke your heart over and over again

instead, find me in the whisper of a friend who knows how too good you are for him anyway

and then replace me with "i hate you" when you block his number

try to use the other billion nouns in the world when you find yourself captivated by your endless collection of playboy

don’t waste me on the first girl you see naked or the second, or the third

instead, wrap me up and place me in the center of the palm of your best friend since first grade write me a dozen and one times in a hand written letter to your mother after your first week of college put me to adjectival use as you describe the curve of his lips when he sleeps or her infinite eyelashes combing at your chest. murmur me, almost incoherently into the hair of the girl who’s loved you since middle school

then forget to write me on the note by her bedside table when you leave before the sun kisses the sky the next morning

hold on to me like pocket change and expend me cautiously

because one day when you need the comfort of my syllables or the certainty of my letters

I’ll be long gone, escaped from the breath within your bones

and caught in the ears of those who weren’t listening

melina iavarone

exposed nothing is guaranteed, but there is faith in what I’ve composed no protection. no armor. no shield. it is an undeniable risk, do not blame me when I yield

step by step, a layer at a time I begin to commit what feels like a crime pounding heart, beating faster than the speed of light as the words sail out, my throat grows tight

the key has rotated, a treasure chest unlocked I have opened the door you knocked tattered & torn, visible are my scars revealing one’s pain is rare like shooting stars

the butterflies that once fluttered deep have soared off my lips, with my secrets I now see that intimacy is what transparency emits because a naked body alights a flame but a naked soul ignites the fire.