This is a game for two

Every time the moon is as round as a yolk
in the sky, you tell me one of your fantasies.
This time, you tell me that you’ve always wanted to
break me like an egg. Crack my insides until they
spill out so you can explore me until I am
equal parts abstract, equal parts grotesque.

On those nights, I’ll call you by your full name
because I know that’s how your mother did it
before she left, and now it is the most intimate act
to exist between you and I.

You always cry before it’s over
and in those moments you’ll ask
if you can be my only muse. I’ll tell you
yes, but ask that you stay in return.
You’ll kiss the tip of my nose where
a septum hangs like a crescent but not
before hovering your lips above mine
because you like to feel the air leave my lungs.

I’ve never learned to say no and
you’ve never learned to keep your promises.

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Jia Yi (Joy) Ling is currently an undergraduate student at Washington University in St. Louis. She studies political science and enjoys prose poetry.