by Maya Georgi
Your kiss is a prayer
to winding back roads,
one block farms,
and the river that connects us to Philly’s humble skyline.
Your hands are tuscany yellow,
Jersey summer sweet corn
and sudden sunflower fields
on the way to the shore.
Your jet black curls swing like oak leaves
in a wild canopy,
hiding oasis wonders
and springtime bonfires.
Your drawl is cicadas
humming at twilight
right before their wild envelop,
a song amidst suburbia’s lull.
Your grenadine smile is the receding sun
warming this sliver of the Pine Barrens,
a watercolor on the Delaware
holding us golden before it sleeps.
Maya Georgi is a Latinx writer and South Jersey native. She grew up on the many bridges between Mount Laurel, NJ and Philadelphia, vacillating between suburb and city. Maya is a recent graduate from Marymount Manhattan College in New York City. She has been previously published in The Carson Review.