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Cable and silk.
They brush their burnt hands over mine.
What is living without a little flint and honey?
I wash in a broken sink.
My hair feels like wax between my fingers
And so I slip
Out into the midnight woods.
I gather my possessions till I'm holy.
Can you feel the wicker flute blow
Amongst the fox trees?
Harriet called,
She said that my condolences had been received
My absences retired from memory
Now, all myself within, out I feel lost
In obsequiousness
I am forever found
'Till then
My heart encased in amber molasses
Sits upon the darkest stone upon the hearth
For good and yet for better and yet for worst
I churn the butter (Bake the bread)
I left you first.
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on the nature of flesh (poetry collection)
PoetryON THE NATURE OF FLESH (AND THE FLESH OF NATURE) is a youthful mix of extended metaphor, low humour, rambles about nature, society, capitalism, queer politics and anything else that the poet feels at least mildly strong about. 🌱 #1 in lgbtpoetry #...
