Leah Breskal

Red-Hot

burning.
my face is burning

as if he were a blazing
sun––gravity-strong
arms, he’s got. i thought

i’d learned i burn and bleed easy, yet
now i’ve got red smeared cross-jugular,
hot stains across my heaving chest

again. stubbled edges
leave harsh red
marks on my sensitive

lips. i soothe my burnt
palm with his ice-bright
irises. i love his

red-hot humor bubbling
down my open throat, caressing
my veins as it fizzes and burns like

fingertips on stubbled cheeks
and dry ice marring teenage lungs
and gaping crimson, bleeding, burning

promises like
i won’t fall again.


Leah Breskal is a sophomore at Brandeis University from Los Angeles, CA studying Creative Writing, English, Secondary Teacher Education, and Music. She’s been writing poetry and short fiction for as long as she can remember and is overjoyed to be involved in Laurel Moon as a layout editor, writer, and editor.