(PUBLISHED IN SEVENTH QUARRY, SUMMER ISSUE 2012)
Smelling the age you loved the most
With half of each other in your hands,
The ink is pushed along by empty fingers
Across a path to you and your eyes.
The grass is waiting with nothing in between
As you choose between left and right.
There is the phrase from a million mouths
Making myriad hopes.
I want to light up your face
But I would be smudging what has started to form.
(published in Roundyhouse, June 2012)
Barefoot on the blossom,
Each step gives you more.
The leaves join you in being drunk from the sun
And your options flow alongside you
As you pick away at the bark
And imagine her when she was young.
Each light I turn off
I get closer to the smell.
I could never wake up again, I dream.
My teeth fall out at the side
And I spit them into your hand.
You carry me all the way across America
And I cry on your sleeve
‘I know what you mean’,
An alley of faces,
Hair that I cannot see past,
Hands going pale,
Hips on hips,
Sparks flying as teeth get chipped.
The feeling of bricks breaking nails
Will wriggle inside me until I starve it.
Blood tickles the back of my throat
As I arch my spine and reach out for a friend,
And the scratching on my shoulder
Doesn’t make a mark
As I stare at myself in the shower.