• seizure

    don’t worry the initial seizure; rejection is natural to too much; let me foam over, eyes turned upwards, white; if breath stops; i have known a kiss like nothing else; press me under; make every beam, breeze, drop invade me; make it all bend to a single lift of my finger,

  • tongue

    you would like a bite out of this hand? an eye? or maybe tongue? ah…it seeps in like sickness; foreign, come in; what’s these limbs without you? the rose only bleeds for me; the lake ripples with my breath; every flick of these eyelash strings lies; now, bloody these lips, put on coals for eyes,

  • what root

    i will bite that apple, let it shiver down my spine; what’s starlight if it’s not on the streams of this hair? what root if it’s not wrapping me under? take me in my waking sleeping, every night, you say price? take all there is, i won’t bat an eye; 

  • white rose

    stop it, every white rose that has come your way has tainted, for a thing that happened so far back—look back, you have to remember to look back, you have grown bigger than it; and yet you are unwilling to hold it; and so many hands have chopped under your seething eyes; you have been…

  • redden my feet

    your feet is what i was to worship; spring flowers and rivers at your wake, but for as long as i know, cracked earth, a ring of flames, and tongue that lashed; i have always unclaimed you; and yet here i am folded. press your hot coals into my palms, redden my feet in your…

  • paved

    you took the paved road and raged, asked me to take the one that leads the heart, and that too, has led to annihilation, i know you have still tasked me with something unsaid, unformed; don’t worry, i have found the candle, the chamber will come,

  • birth a flower

    don’t ask me why, i must walk it blindfold; where there is no ground, and no further step for these toes, i cannot hesitate; my breath hangs like a ghost, the next inhale depends on this; you say birth a flower, even after all the nails that had bitten into you, your loneliness has gouged…

  • is real

    the pen zips, pauses, tilts and breathes; the pot of ink sits under the ribcage, your words dip into it and sweetens, flows down these fingertips, ink shines silver—something else, i know there is something else; but i cannot prove it, bleeding is real,

  • folded

    our promises folded; the strings that held two together neatly wrapped around a coin; the corners of the pages of our favourite book unfolded, pressed out, closed; the words in our mouths finished before it had a chance to begin, to begin,

  • curse

    i watched you, watch her tear through my chest and eat; you did nothing, you have been eaten the same; and you say, it’s the mother’s right; i don’t think so; i think it’s a curse the first she had placed on a weak heart–or that she couldn’t allow in the purity of a pearled…