by Chloe Cook

In Covington, I smell the honeysuckle
smeared across the hills: impenetrable
yellow mocking the warblers as they guzzle

mealworms. For now, I am calm: full bodied,
girl firm, tame near the prickly milfoil weed.
But I could become animal. Exert my thighs

and sweat into the lake, let the coyotes
hold me down, rub their wild scent
against my cheeks. I could crave romance,

exhale a name and welcome texture to my mouth.
But I desire everything: fennel pollen, king melon,
burmese lotus silk draped over my blushing chest.

Chloe Cook holds a BA in English from Northern Kentucky University. She is the author of a chapbook, Surge (Dancing Girl Press, 2022), and her writing is featured in Stoneboat Literary Journal, The Journal, Ghost City Review, and Sutterville Review, among others. Her honors include an International Merit Award from Atlanta Review and third place in the Kentucky State Poetry Society’s 2022 Grand Prix Poetry Contest (selected by Joy Priest). She is currently an MFA student at the University of Florida.