Poetry

Fragile chamber

Cold is the taste of your heart when it’s been locked up for too long.

Chisel it out, careful, careful

and throw it on the fire.

Don’t worry, it won’t burn.

Watch it thaw,

see the flame-hands nurse it back

squeezing out the poison haunting your veins.

Take it from them.

Firm grip now,

and push it back in place.

You’ll get used to it – it won’t always be heavy.

 

Poetry

Fancy words for little things

We can’t simply stand around

quoting the words of long-dead playwrights

whenever our lovers’ embrace crumples

under the weight of our hesitation.

I want to speak in my own tongues,

not someone else’s. How can their thoughts

be true to what I wish to convey?

Your muchness matches my muchness.

And I hope it will

forever.

Poetry

Ushering footsteps

The darkness rides the waves of sweat

hidden deep under the layers

resting against your neck.

 

The building cold, a stir of breath,

the air tingles with impatience

while anxiety threatens the grievous theft.

 

A cold stone slab presents itself,

a shuffle of feet, tipping the balance

forward as the clock hits twelve.

 

Visions are strong in this line of work,

hands beckon from beneath

where the bodies quietly lurk.

 

Quiet now, quiet, they surely whisper

remember the promise you made

with your dying younger sister.

 

The darkness rides the waves of sweat

hidden deep under the layers

resting against your neck.