by Melissa Llanes Brownlee
The sky commands and your lips spread wide as you gulp down, tongue extending to your chin, your jaw cracking open to swallow cumuli, to deep throat lightning bolts, envelop the moon, then the sun, engorging yourself with stars, then galaxies, and there’s no stopping as your tears rush down the back of your head, the back of your legs, feeding the now-dead earth at your feet.