[May meant I’d marry my mischief with yours] Faith Morgan May meant I’d marry my mischief with yours and mend the maturity our minds seemed to lose in one another’s company. We’d often make a mockery of men who meddled in the matrimony of a woman’s desire and another’s willingness to meet it. May meant we’d melt in the middle of that lake, it’s body pricking precise pinches of pain in our limbs and our toes, so frozen with the pins and needles, the lick of that chill. The sky felt vaster then, it’s arms open and scooping our bones into child's pose. I’d swallow the sand that the lake threw up to have May again, I’d marry men who meddle in the matrimony of my desires.
d Onion River Review d 24
