Spring says stay burning. I’m turning into pink moss this harvest, and there is a place I want to show you. Follow me, and there will be round glowing orbs, our laughter, the sweetest symphony of grass blades, and night sky for miles. Maybe there’s no map to get there, but somehow I always know the way. There’s a fire inside me this season, and my hair curls in the heat; so, what I’m asking if you’re game, sacrifice yourself to this forest. It’ll just be us and the pink moon, on the altar of chance. I’m doing this because I want to hold your soul forever. It’ll be brutal and beautiful. It’s something else; this flame, and my lips are aching to show you the trees, a green well, and the moss growing under my dress. If you could feel what I feel between our lips. Drink from this well and taste.

[Stephanie Valente is a poet, copywriter, and the author of the collection Internet Girlfriend, published by Clash Books. She is at work on a novel. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. @stephaniemariavalente and https://stephanievalente.substack.com]