Like That

Your body was a song I know. Our arms are 
the room. There are no more 

metaphors. Slurred words landing on moonlight 
and all I can say is, I have

regrets on both sides of this, as I turn off the lights 
on our musculature, letting your 

whisper tumbleweed down my spine. You’re the breath 
of my next lifetime, I say. You clasp 

your hand over my mouth, slick like a thunderstorm
in the middle of the afternoon.

OLIVIA MUÑOZ

Olivia Muñoz is the author of the chapbook, These Women Carry Purses Full of Knives, winner of the Latin American Poetry prize from the Blue Mountain Review. Her work appears in the San Pedro River Review, Thimble Literary Magazine, La Raíz Magazine, and other publications. Born and raised in Saginaw, Michigan, she now calls the West Coast home.