Sex or Undergrown Parking Garage by Ellery Beck

Tomorrow, I’ll plant your post-
      sun, bury you in concrete cracks and unlit
skies, praying— you’ll bloom still. If you grow, you’ll need
      water, but I’ve only known streams of white and yellow, of blur—
traffic. Somehow, everyone has a you, a parked
      somewhere, a firefly far enough peripheral that it spills
and shoots, already star. And, already I’ve made my walled-in
      wish just to turn, to find my hands gripping
the wheel so yours stay still—silence
      in place of distance. You don’t reach, so I’ll lace
my lips with lyric, or let smoke grow or paper
      sink or—no, all you’ve taught me is the static of gas
pedals, the hurt of never landing, and this hope: never letting go enough to fall.
Visual art by Hyewon Cho