The Aftermath

by Ryan Mayer

As her nightdress wandered past me,
rain turned white linen translucent—
her body appeared like an apparition!
Her smile chilled the coating on my tongue.

Rain turned white linen translucent
while her wet hair mimicked scorching worms.
Her smile chilled the diamonds on my tongue—
I cannot taste the moonlight on my wine.

While her wet hair mimicked scorching worms,
the gobbets on her lashes fell—bursting at her feet;
I cannot taste the moonlight on my wine,
I realized. The distant oak’s limbs wither.

The gobbets on her lashes fell, bursting at her feet—
my skin paled; my body appeared: an apparition!
I realized (too late!) her distance withers my limbs
—but she has long since wandered past.

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Ryan Mayer is a poet and writer native to New Orleans. He graduated from Loyola University New Orleans with a BA in English (creative writing) and recently received his MFA from the University of New Orleans. Although he is not yet widely published, his poetry can be found in 433 Magazine, Tilted House Review, Final Girl Bulletin Board, and Penumbra Literary and Art Journal, while his prose has appeared in EssayDaily, Terrain.org, and Xavier Review.