Sine wave

By ​Ioana Mirodonie

herbal steam ghosts above the bedsheets— 
this malady papers me thin,
and I fantasize.

chrysanthemums rattle red with the wind,
sunlight pours serotonin over the sand—
what a waste.

I salamander under an arched wing;
hold a feather’s sharp stem to the ripple
just above where my collarbones meet.

a wave in my mind drops a thought:

you could fit your worth
inside a grape
pop it
between two fingers
it would spray
a little juice
enough to blind the eye

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​Ioana Mirodonie is a poet and speculative writer from Romania. This is her first published work.