You always had the habit
of devouring with relish everything
that fit between your lips.
Ten thousand buds can never
blossom wide enough
to satisfy the cravings
of my skin,
the sweet rawness
behind knees, the salt
of my collar bone. Taste me
like a Mumbai robber fly,
with every line of your body
from the soles of your feet
to the swell of your mouth,
juices running like burst kamrak
fruit, overripe and heavy.
—

Jessica Tyner is originally from Oregon, a member of the Cherokee Nation, and has been a writer and editor for ten years. She has recently published short fiction in India’s Out of Print Magazine, and poetry in Slow Trains Literary Journal, Straylight Magazine, Solo Press, and Glint Literary Journal.  Her first novel has been picked up by Swift Publishing House.