Poetry

Let’s chat

Like being slit with a scalpel

I find myself open and bleeding,

fractured into shards of agate,

my layers exposed. All

I’m doing is speaking, one

to one. My palms are saunas.

My gaze fixed to your mouth,

not your eyes. I know

I need to speak. I must.

A stone mouth doesn’t make it easy.

Poetry

Sweet almond paste

You pop it into my mouth, expecting

me to savour the taste

as it melts on my tongue.

It’s pleasant, yes, but the sweetness

is just that little bit too sweet,

almost spoiling the rest.

 

The day you took those photographs,

you said I looked sweet.

Was I over sweet?

Your smile was never true after that,

as though suddenly you’d seen more

than you were hoping for

but were still left disappointed.

 

The paste in my mouth has completely

broken down now.

Just like my image of you.