by Ashley Taylor

Stuck and dripping at the back of your throat,

this juniper seed syrup pine cone pit

rolls your words on the coil of my ear;

and like tucking curls behind my temple,

I know you don’t mean it.         So again,

hold out your tongue for honeycomb and gin

because I keep searching for art in you.

A compass for bewilderment in hues

of amber on gold on rose; I forget

to check wonder at the door like a debt.

Caught in the wild lilac from the yard,

I keep finding bees in the mason jars.

With wings like sinew, I pull them from sap.

Stringing arcs of honey cling, and reach back.

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Ashley Taylor is currently pursuing her MFA in Writing (Poetry) at Spalding University. She holds a Master of Arts in English from the University of Louisville, where she teaches college composition and facilitates UofL's LGBTQ+ creative writing group. She's volunteered as editor for The White Squirrel, Miracle Monocle, and Lemon Star Mag. Her work has appeared in Lavender Review, Limestone Journal, Coe Review, Merrimack Review, and elsewhere. She is the founder and curator of Louisville KY reading series River City Revue.