Arah Ko



This must

be the punch

line; bruised



crush mouth your

body soft

against the floor:


nightly, insects gather

at your bedlight drinking

              gold, wings scorched

              vampiric humming

              blisters snug


against your neck

by morning. Your teeth

            are bleeding


& I worry

at the wound. Inside,


a moth has laid

her eggs,    

ruined cashmere



over my shoulder,



Tonight we are the thick

   in this slice

of light, in sex scent,

insect swarm.

Gemini Remember Their Father


I am sorry          for deceiving you. When

I shed my feathers, I am just a naked bird-


god; just           the shell of the egg. I can almost see

it, now; tremors under translucent       skin, pockets


where the light                              passed through.

When the crack comes, transverse sliver like


the jagged mouth         of an open quarry, I

tumble out, dark gold              hair, wetly screaming,


insensible to the heavy teeth    of a crown.

Or maybe        that was you? The godbird sleeping


in your blood, our                    siblings stirring

in their yolks,  our                    father’s yellow


eyes watching. What little good            he saw in mortal

offspring: twins limned              by the divine. I


can still feel his gaze in shadows, knowing

he is deceiving us; knowing      he is deceived.

Arah Ko is a writer living on an active volcano. Her work has appeared in Ruminate, Rust+Moth, and SIREN, amoung others. When not writing, she can be found correcting her name pronunciation, counting constellations, and contemplating the meaning of life, other than 42.



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