When I was six a phoenix
tried to drown me.
Underwater I grabbed for fire.
Like Icarus, I was reaching
towards the sun.
I hope he still has
bald spots. I hope he still
cradles searing scars.
He was death,
I was the bird.
My uncle knows plastic-
wrapped soaps as well
as he knows fine wines.
If he drinks enough,
he thinks it’s love-
carved names rubbing
the silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 days
sweating, ship black against
sea. Like it had been peeled
from amber tongues.
On my fifteenth birthday, the boy
with stars on his fists and Saturn’s
rings in his eyes told me I was pretty.
It was the first time
anyone had said so. I learned
how to hold my breath,
how to apply foundation,
how to cry
without bleeding tar
down my cheeks,
and how to wear my bones
He says he does it for the money.
He says you have to come up slowly
or else something inside of you will explode.
I didn’t understand what he meant
until I realized my throat was still
somewhere in his bed, tired
and having forgotten itself.
When I left I drove as far
and as fast as I could.
I wear waterproof mascara now. But even
with the feathers sprouting fiery from between
my shoulder blades - I don't look
straight at the sun.
Don’t step to me I may wear a frilly pink skirt, but I will TAKE YOU in a fight. Not even because I’m angry, I could just use the exercise In humility, so throw me your best haymaker, and I’ll take it, because I’ve never had a bone too beautiful to break it. No, throw me to the ground and I’ll memorise the sound because it’s profound that you think your pride can push ME around. They say words are the way to make a man break. But while you’re focussed on finding a phrase to prove your ego more great, you won’t see my hands palming your hate. Making mental memos of words, mementos of the curse.
wasp-waisted beauty pray into my collarbone let your snake tongue slither with the syllables. i wish for soft-chested nights, and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass. poppy-lips, lull me to sleep, nurse my coiling tongue with yours; tap my scalp like a silent drum, and wind my hair in between your fingers like broken guitar strings. (serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.
I have been suffocating on the stars of my past like horny gentlemen do with innocent looking wolfgirls at 3am- their bite fearless as thieves. My lilac lungs are breathing in dust and the tears of Saturn’s nameless moons, while the rest of me - well, shes warm off wine and poems left unfinished.
SycamoreSeaHobbyist Traditional Artist
Wow, I can't even... wow. There is so much here to love. The entirety of i. is perfect, and I adore how to wear my bones / quieter, and the way v. ties it back together is just amazing. Wonderful work (to the both of you) and congratulations on the DD! <3