with lines from BTS
Our bodies take the shape of a city, skyscrapers
tilting into the trajectory of the horizon.
Constellations burning with the infinite smallness
of our existence. A rebellion against nightfall,
not because of these stars or lights, but us.
We are lost shadows, splintered wings, a fusion
of both. Afterwards, we search for someplace
else to go, seek refuge in the cosmology
of our heart. How easily we are able to uncover
a universe inside our veins. Some things are better
undiscovered: how the lights we see in each
other are saying the same thing. Displacement.
Every act is one of estrangement, the city sleepless.
Perhaps jealous of the starlight that shines
brighter in the darkest nights. The light betrays us,
now converging into midnight. Nothing is left of
the night, except for this beautiful brutality.
Our celestial bodies of light trembling in static.
Jessica Kim is a disabled poet from California. A two-time 2021 Pushcart nominee, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Wildness Journal, Cosmonauts Avenue, Grain Magazine, Longleaf Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and more. She is the founding editor of The Lumiere Review. Find her at www.jessicakimwrites.weebly.com and @jessiicable on Twitter and Instagram.