Viewport width =
October 2, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Knots

Sit still while I

comb the demons from your hair.

On their way out

they are spitting,

and fighting.

Grabbing at the knots,

their lips on your lips.

I bite down hard and tear them out with chunks of hair.

 

Picking out the lies slowly from between my teeth.

Like looking in the mirror at a petrol station

or, in another life,

sitting together quietly

on an empty porch.

 

You never returned my library books,

I always forgot and

folded down the pages.

 

When I imagined you with her

it was like us,

but with the sheets crumpled

into a different shape.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Add Comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.

Recent posts

  1. Vic Beats a Dead Horse Named University of Wellington
  2. Issue 20, Vol 81: CW: Tits & Bits
  3. Food Sex
  4. A (Selective and By No-Means all-Encompassing) Look at Neo-Soul
  5. A Love Song
  6. Doing It
  7. Top 5 Sexiest TV Shows I I Was Too Young to be Watching But I Did Anyway
  8. My Dad Wrote A Porno
  9. NT: Te Ara Tauira
  10. Sexing up the Hub: Condoms, Clits & Suzy Cato
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided