Semilunar | Aurea Kochanowski | The Piltdown Review



In the autumn,

we fling open the windows

and commune with the stars from your bedside.

Blood unspools as one red thread,

cross-stitched on your breast,

and there’s promises

and salt.

You are so immense

that midnight pools betwixt your hips

and the moon rides your tongue like the sea,

and there are secrets,

warm and wet

and frantic in my thigh.

Beneath, the sheets turn into strips

of alabaster.

To the west, there is a silk mist

that drowns the distant mountains,

and when it comes,

you will drift from my fading arms

to love others.

But for now,

my bones are weightless

in the candlelight,

my mouth fizzing like a plum.

When you go, love,

I will be sleeping.

My name will be quiet in the hearth.  



More Remarkable Finds


Before the dawn starts stirring far away, unravelling young clouds and lilac-gold, I will sit with you awhile.
July 1964

July 1964

She holds a flower, listening only to the small petals. They’ve all come outside to see the purple.
On a Folksy Painting of Kids Throwing Die, Harlem

On a Folksy Painting of Kids Throwing Die, Harlem

Tap tap tap foretold the stoop’s cartomancy ahead. Green worms ravage the expected shrine, bend moonward & escape.



  • Voodoo Dodo
    a poem by Jonathan Andrew Pérez
  • Free Golf
    a story by Rob Keast
  • Ship of Fools: Surviving Fragment of Triptych
    a poem by Rose Auslander
  • Portrait
    a poem by Roger W. Hecht
  • Emmaus
    a story by Mark Wagstaff
Track your submissions at Duotrope