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thesaurus
Tara Labovich
i slip my hand into your pocket when we walk side
by sidewalk—only half for warmth—you say
you imagine us december, in the mountains—i say,
what poem today?—you wrap your warmth careful
round my back while i chop squash, winter teasing
us from the window. i say, i dreamed of you in a valley—
you say, i waited til you woke. i say, into your bare chest,
i adore you. and you say,
we are using synonyms
for a word neither of us have said.
Tara Labovich (they/them) is a writer and lecturer of English and Creative Writing in Iowa. Their multi-genre creative work explores questions of queerness, survivorship, and multicultural upbringing. Their writing is nominated for Best of the Net, and can be found in journals such as Salt Hill and the Citron Review. You can find them on socials at @taralabovich