on the off , dancery
lane Chance, a phone
screen take-away, pick
up a shot or two
along the way, rev
myself. direction myself to
an old tomb, where I
left you. dig you
upstairs, pulling bannisters,
walls fade into cotton
photo folio. I pretend
I hold you, but I watch
others. I take in, almost,
names fall. slowly
they crawl back until
it’s just
us.
your hand pressures,
naked eyes splinter, but
I stay with the line. For
what a terrible song
would that sin.
head
face
words
fall close,
lean in then out, skirting
round, around the
plant pots you proud over.
were you not who you
are, would seizure entirety
over your fitted sheets.
a keep eyesing
me.
keep off this
sculptured stainer. we
cannot cut ourselves
into mess. we mustn’t
mesh ourselves
into skips. a dirty lip, I
ask you to ask me. I
safely eject.
my body yeses,
instinct clings you,
but collapsing sofas brood
unwelcome incestual
celestials.
I rush to away.
And wonder h ow I
could have held myself
with you
between…
…and yet
I cannot word out brain.
superiored, you amess
my unaccessed tongue and I
awkward to hide
the storm in blood.
attached to the demons
I devil my own
