deer shed spring
antlers in clumps
of sticky velvet,
tease fallen flesh
like deadnames
on their tongues.
you shiver at each
thick swallow,
clotted memories
slithering their red
way back to bone,
and this still
air aches with the
promise of shatter.
once,
in the quiet
shell of our sheets,
we wove dreams of
flight, former girl
-boyhoods forever
left beneath the city’s
gun-dark tar.
once,
we barreled down
backroads at dawn
like something hunted.
our throats howled past
mile markers, mistaking
anonymity for rebirth,
satisfied only once
trees absorbed all echo.
now, our stories remain
slick with present-tense,
all memory new
heresy. bucks lick
their teeth sickening
pink: summer selves
filling their simple
bellies warm.
antlers in clumps
of sticky velvet,
tease fallen flesh
like deadnames
on their tongues.
you shiver at each
thick swallow,
clotted memories
slithering their red
way back to bone,
and this still
air aches with the
promise of shatter.
once,
in the quiet
shell of our sheets,
we wove dreams of
flight, former girl
-boyhoods forever
left beneath the city’s
gun-dark tar.
once,
we barreled down
backroads at dawn
like something hunted.
our throats howled past
mile markers, mistaking
anonymity for rebirth,
satisfied only once
trees absorbed all echo.
now, our stories remain
slick with present-tense,
all memory new
heresy. bucks lick
their teeth sickening
pink: summer selves
filling their simple
bellies warm.
Fox Auslander is a non-binary poet based in Southwest Philadelphia. They are a volunteer at Alien Magazine and The Chestnut Review, a temporary shut-in, and probably happy. Find their recent work in Daily Drunk Mag, forthcoming in GLITCHWORDS and Collective Realms, and on Twitter @circumgender.