They polished the scaled armour with orange peel every evening. The citrus scent repelling the taste of blood and earth residing in each crease. The overlapping plates fish-like, never one colour for more than a moment. Inside, the body was still human. Just. It preferred oranges to iron, whatever its brain might say.
I’m falling out of love with the apples
suspended in the air, frozen
on their descent to the ground.
The songbirds too, paused
in mid-flight away from the rain clouds.
I can stand in front of a whole swarm of bees,
rear ends rapier-pointed at my face,
knowing they will never pierce me.
What’s there to like
about a world that does not breathe?