Sunflowers
Jenny George

I'm in the world but I still want the world.
I'm full of longing and can’t move,
enthralled in the garden. Having died
all the way back to the root, I grow again
into a version of the thing I love. I'm her
and not her, hermaphrodite with a heart
like a plateful of black flames.
The bees inspect me like doctors.
All my hard little tears, future selves
who haven't grown. Bedclothes swell on the line
while around me giant sunflowers burn
through their masks of radiant desire.

thinking about alex turner’s letter to alexa chung on this fine day 🚬

I Think Love is Something That Happens to Other People
Michael Gray

like winning the lottery / or finding God in your
sock drawer.
I think love is something
that happens to other people-nebulous, distant, an invention of the movies; I think love is
like death/as in,
it happens to everyone but you
until it happens / to you,
and then where else could you be
but in love? Where else could you be but in
the belly of the beast, / that oozing cavern
where people go in fairy tales? I think
love
is a creation. I think maybe you shape it
with your hands, I think maybe you find it
stuck in your molars, I think maybe it comes to you
when you're in the shower, your face tilted
towards the water while your mind melts somewhere
else, I think maybe
we've all been naming it
wrong.
You know that love? That falling-to-your-knees love?
That where'd-the-water-go love? That
hold-me-close-I'll-never-leave-I-know-your-favorite-coffee-creamer love? That
what-we-talk about-when-
we-
talk-about-love love? You ever felt that? I mean,
really felt any of that? / Yeah, tell me again
how you feel it. Yeah, tell me again / how it fills
the chest, fills the head, fills
the lungs. Tell me
again
what it means to find God in your sock drawers. Tell
me
again.