i met an angel and forgot the rest of the sky

April Yu

surely you have tasted the lemongrass underfoot, curled the tree wisps with pomade and your cresting
fingernails; surely the splash of ink has condensed into a freckle at the soft sigh where your ear and jaw
kiss, cocooning your face until you metamorphose. if it was you who pinned angel wings and scattered
the flaky dust of golden tarts over the arms of the willow tree, your hair its halo, know that i do not hiss
my mother’s name because of the undercurrent of your honey-wine. if i rub your sunset cheeks and let the
burnt-orange scaffolding peel away onto my fingers, wrap your arms around me once and stamp your lips
onto the nape of my neck like a real lover; smear crimson across my knuckle-purpled skin and murmur
esoteric pacification beneath heaven’s varnish. tell me you know the flavor of morning dew laced across
wisteria, tree bark like finger gloves formed around our darkest secrets. tell me that my palms can sweat
and my eyes can bleed and your flesh will not erode. un-scaffold me, wipe me clean like a bruise. taste
lemongrass—skate your fingers under my ribs once, whisper butterfly wings across the juncture of my
neck twice, and remember the sky will forget us.

April Yu is a young writer from New Jersey with an affinity for language, running, and human anatomy. Although she was indeed born in April, her favorite season is winter. Her work has or is slated to appear in Stone Soup Magazine, Ice Lolly Review, and Lit. 202, among others. In 2021, she was awarded the annual #1 Flash Fiction Piece on Storybird sitewide. She is a graduate of the Alpha Workshop for Young Writers. Visit her on Instagram @aprilbossom, Twitter @aprilgoldflwrs, and at aprilyu.carrd.co.