one, a gold leaf i pluck from the shimmering bristles of the mistletoe in june. add it to my book. sink my filed teeth into my wrist and rip out tendons, pull them through the eye of my needle. i sew the page to the binding with fleshy tendrils. red pairs well with gold. red gleams with my lifeblood stitched in cursive lines against glimmering sun-wept paper.
two, run my puckered-as-a-prune fingertip along the stitching. the line is a vessel, redder now with all my sanguinity pumping through the binding. my flesh is cool blue and my fingernail is necrotic black. the gold leaf blooms, dripping off the sides of the cover, its own bookmark.
three, it's very clear we're held together by a bleeding perforated line. my shrivelled skeleton fingers could just rip the page off cleanly.
YOU ARE READING
heartburn expulsion
Poetryan ongoing collection of the love poems of nobodi. the full anthology of nobodi's poetry, "i'll never be a poet", can be found on wattpad as well.
