celestial

April 18, 2018

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

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KATIE KINGSTON

ACTOR | WRITER | MUSICIAN 

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