Emma-Louise Adams

Godless, we press our tongues 

against the pale moon

through fogged and glistening 

car-glass, then down each other’s 

throats, contrasting warmths and 

wetnesses, wondering how it would feel to die 

in a manner anatomically impossible. All 

inside-out, gurglingly

implausible, under that same moon. 

In the only places legends are 

permitted to be true; under cover of darkness 

or buckling polymer sunroof, under

hailstorm, in domain of

no deity, of thick

tongues, of courage and 

eclipse on a late Sunday afternoon. 

Emma-Louise Adams is a disabled lesbian writer masquerading as a history student in Sheffield, UK. They have dabbled in everything from visual art to musical performance, before finding their home in writing, joining the Rose Quartz Journal and Vessel Press as a regular contributor. For updates on their latest literary—and not-so-literary—endeavours, you can find them on Twitter and Instagram @elaecrire.