“Give me seven, at least. With 10, / I’m sated, turned Satan.”

“we were well behaved and beautiful by the tall windows : copies of Darwin and Sartre in our laps”

Welcome to Issue 6, Honeys.

“& your cum’s cooling too fast on my thigh / & your cum-sigh’s the hit single me / & my cumming replay while you’re away”

“I’m Eliza Doolittle, coughing out The rain in Spain stays mainly / in the plain.”

Oh gosh, time for three stunners by Michael Sun:

“this is her bibimbap /

she has two languages to say I love you / “

“That summer, I was rejected in every white man’s journal, / and I felt bad for my poems, my children, / when I couldn’t build them a home.”

Here is the dream. Here is the truth. Let’s sashay and come out on top, into this must-read by Shira Haus.

“you recount this childhood memory. you write a poem about it.” Welcome to “DO YOU HIT HIM?: a multiverse” by Monica Kim.

“Our pleasure just that uncontainable. We roost inside reels of film” — a love poem set.

“My love it’s raining— / This song inside me, a seed, and you” — Oh goodness, Rajiv Mohabir

A Qaemot is a sort of prayer for a Jewish exorcism. This is part of a new series on “exorcism poems” for Rosebud Ben-Oni.

Only women appear in the Heritage Poem™,

and the mother is the most important.

Tomorrow, / I promise I will unbury my fingers / from yesterday’s losses.

I STILL GO OUT EVERY NIGHT DETERMINED TO COME BACK BRUISED.

Above the North Atlantic, his lola miles away––her endless hands his face hasn’t fallen into since ‘03, a red hibiscus perched on her windowsill he’s forgotten the scent of.

those glass doors that were left unlocked/since people like this can afford to trust

see me, Black as I am and call me beautiful

2 poems by I.S. Jones.