Lunar Cycles by Lemmy Ya’akova

breasts swell a sign
of impending gush, full
moon congregates gore
in me, her host.
we are just setting our phones down
on different surfaces in wait.
a day won’t pass that I won’t
think of my body
what it should and should not be
doing, it’s ability to drive an SUV
with a trailer attached holding
6 loved ones through the appalachian
mountains of georgia. god
is so romantic. they turn
peanut butter pretzels
and weed into heavy jellied
blood in my belly as I become
the anathema of your eye.
at least I’m in your eye at all.
better to be your curse than nothing.
sometimes, like now, I just need
to hear that someone would love
me if I were a worm.

Lemmy Ya’akova is an advocate for y2k low culture, a film photographer, a popcorn enthusiast and a cat parent to their overgrown son, Moose. Their work can be found in Hooligan Magazine, HAD (Hobart After Dark), Knight’s Library Magazine, Fifth Wheel Press and more. You can keep up with their jokes on twitter @lem_jamin and read their work here: https://linktr.ee/lem_jamin.