I buried my sunflowers underground, in order to chastise their growth. I was afraid of their beauty, as I sat under the burning glare of your eyes. As I ran, the floor became quick sand .I grasped at stale air, that only the mutants could consume. I spat the poison out of my soul, from each love letter you ever gave me, as mercury burnt through my papier mache bones. My eyes turned to wax tears, as my cheeks melted into the Sahara. I was finally returning myself to the body of Jesus once again, even though I’d never owned a book of scripture. John Davies 2021 (c)