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OverNight by Mykenzie Burnett
Beautiful brown curls.
A face sweeter
Wool, a peach.
New and freshly ripe,
ready for the taking.
Caught off guard,
distracted by
the subtle sweetness of
your chapstick.
Strawberry
or maybe watermelon.
After by Mykenzie Burnett
Old moldy fruit.
A sight only flies enjoy.
Maggots claim the corpse.
Falling
hard from the tree. Skin
now bruised and stepped on.
Burnt by the summer air.
Swift burial
My love, dead compost.
Nothing left,
But the bitter rot of you.
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