the vision

I had pride. Once, but not now.

I petition the gods and their aromatic

laurel wreaths. Their eyes of stone.

Listen.

My desperate hunger.

My castrated submission.

Air filled with cinnamon.

Regenerate. Come back. 

Speak my name.

Your laughter. Your footsteps.

The scent of your neck.

My hand palms your shoulder.

Cup your cheeks. You, real again.

If I had to invent an underworld

just to get you back, I’d never look

at salt the same way again.

Stephanie Valente is a poet, copywriter, and the author of the collection Internet Girlfriend, published by Clash Books. She is at work on a novel. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. @stephaniemariavalente and https://stephanievalente.substack.com