Come to me
Bare necked
And blemished
Desire is
Ten pots of honey
And something warm between my legs
Thursday, 20 March 2014
Thursday, 13 March 2014
desire is red wine
I drink you like
Red wine
Thick, sweet
Open mouthed
Bare necked
And straight from the bottle
You make my cheeks warm
And my head spin
desire is pumpkin tendrils
It is an organic thing
Like damp soil
Like vegetable scraps upon a compost
A heady cloying warmth
I press my hands against it
And it molds around my fingers
It grows
Rich and
Earthy dark
Like chocolate, like mud
It ferments
And fantastic things happen
Like pumpkin tendrils
It is procreant
And fertile
Just add liquid
The sweet sap of our thighs
heaving sighs
And it grows
rampant and unruly
It is an organic thing.
It is a wild thing.
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
Gillian
a weaver of dark stories, of weathered tales
with red hair the colour of autumn leaves
and a heavily pronounced face
like its been drawn with a lead pencil
one of those thick 6B ones you smudge with the side of your hand
she has these big eyes
too soft a blue for such a heavy face
and such harrowed songs
with red hair the colour of autumn leaves
and a heavily pronounced face
like its been drawn with a lead pencil
one of those thick 6B ones you smudge with the side of your hand
she has these big eyes
too soft a blue for such a heavy face
and such harrowed songs
Monday, 3 March 2014
desire is a city of stone
Will it ever grow stale before I do?
Before I wither and erode
My heart
Like charcoal simmering golden black
A dried up fat river,
Dank and mossy tangle of roots
My soul, grey
My body crinkling like leaves
Will this passion for you ever subside
Because right now
It feels like it will remain stoic
For one thousand years
A city of stone
Inside my body
Gemma's fear
Gemma panics
Because the summer is shrinking around her
The summer of gardening hands
The summer of salt stained skin
The summer of thieving mornings
So we sleep in the bush
And she rises with the dawn and the shrieking children
And runs along the highway
She asks everyone
On the first day of autumn
‘what will this season give you?’
She is searching for something
Beautiful to fill her
To give to the world as the world gives to her
But no one can answer
Satisfactorily
The seasons chase eachother around us
and we swell
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