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On Earning The Moon

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By Yoda Olinyk

Copyright ©2025


One moan is never enough—I search all night for God

in your folds. Your buttermilk hips buck into my bridge

and my cherry wine noseguts are splayed across the sheets, 

 

enough for you to rush me to the hospital. We giggle

as I list ‘overachiever’ as a pre-existing condition, as my firehose

nostrils leak lust onto my hospital gown. You’re my emergency

 

contact so I flash the nurse your inkname, snug in my bottom

lip. The next morning, each tastebud is a succulent

earning your rind, still bruised from last night’s brawl

 

with your, sleep, we need sleep. My delirious hummingbird

hunger spreads feral across honeysuckle peachpot, panting 

heavy for another crumb of your                   

 

solar-flare-moon-beam-angel-wing-ocean-flesh.




About Yoda Olinyk:

Yoda Olinyk (she/they) loves to make people comfortable, which is too bad because she is a poet. Their poems have been published with Button Poetry, The Shore, Sky Island Journal, and in many other beloved journals. Yoda works full-time as a writer and abortion doula - you can find more of Yoda's work at www.doulaofwords.

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