Darjeeling without honey

Written by Allison Riechman-Bennett
Art by Allison Riechman-Bennett


The eyes can glaze a second death.
There is a stunted breath behind his teeth, seething harsh.
New snow, softened tread left and clothing stiffened in the drum.
There is a hushed freezing, but not from water to ice–
It is the crystalline flakes around a street light, taking in the wind, the sights, and the eyes peeking through a second story blind.

Thread the ribbon through my ribs
strike my chords and let leak my marrow.

The winter sun is the coldest promised warmth,
an embrace of chilled crisp.

I am learning not to dedicate to you,
an effeminate fable, a fib when the heart broaches a moment all too soon.

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