Nocturne by Eric Tran

Blow breath like pocket 

money—some real wet wads

wasted on our tongues—filthy

rich and thick with it—suck

and gasp and sigh—a hole 

wearing into the crotch

of our pants—the moon

flattens and fills—slashed-up

soursop, a lemon—pucker

perfect—my teeth knocking

at your throat’s front door 

my lips—a crosshair

your mouth—a pistol 

Eric Tran is a queer Vietnamese poet and the author of Mouth, Sugar, and Smoke (Diode Editions, forthcoming 2022) and The Gutter Spread Guide to Prayer (Autumn House Press). He serves as an associate editor for Orison Press and a poetry reader for the Los Angeles Review.   He has received awards and recognition from Prairie Schooner, New Delta Review, Best of the Net, and others. His work appears in RHINO, 32 Poems, the Missouri Review and elsewhere. He is a resident physician in psychiatry in Asheville, NC.