Burnished head consecrating
tarnished thighs in the hot tongues of unborn
sighs candle-fingered, the light is bleeding into
Prince of stares in the semi-seeing night,
when you are certain as arrows
you will never catch me.
Cold at FourIs there a technical term for a harp maker?
If there isn't, it's you, as a body, that canine
Your name doesn't
ring right but it's what you do with it that counts:
I tumbled around it and never said it at the correct second, like the
cuboid-skulled choirgirl a note behind, loud and disgusting. A faulty
The banal usurping of my bookish tongue
came on quick.
I'm very sorry.
Everything scratched backwards and now my spine streams
from my throat, cursive handwriting.
Scored in your scalp:
the clicking of toes, falling asleep in the hands of metal men,
forgotten criminality, barbed wire telephones -.
you look like so many faces -
for all I know you don't exist except in broken chairs.
The Maritodespotic PathI am naked beneath my coat of armour.
I woke and thought it was the sickness
I'd had before - my lips had never burned
The ghost of your dog came to me
last night, while I dreamed;
it burst into grey dust and
told me my bulimic piano solos were beautiful.
Dancing under the pregnant sky,
a waning gibbous belly crowned
with violet cloth,
I converse with the moon -
deep, dark French.
I love to speak
to hunted rabbits
and unlit trees.
WitchMy belletrist, little hunched cardigan-drenched
finch, he says, Mess, blooded with French shores and burned cakes,
don't you come to my hand anymore,
crying poppies from sallow ducts, my tiny soil-saviour?
- he touches his own ass-ears with his spiked teeth
and pets me 'til I'm salmon, sunset -
Sleep in my bed, stocky moth,
cease your painting, beetle queen, queenly slut,
turned frizzy in the process of sharpening the sea,
mouth your watercolours and hose down the wall
- I am ill of him, his eating
makes me a murderer -
Newborn kettle-coffee throws a kiss
and our son climbs my sullen thighs;
I doubt we will fall out of love,
the spiders we are.
The WoodsThey were shaped like humans, humans with rat-tail hair or weeping willow spines or long hungry feet, and they danced around her, carried on her fearful imagination. She could taste their wicked delight and she cried, paralysed as they fed upon the chilled currents of winter walks. The little wolves spun up her ankles and took on her thighs; nothing left unexplored for them or her, a vicious loving in the trees. She met the thick loam with her knees and stayed upright, her hollowed body becoming the only memory anyone might ever have of her.
These are the woods where the children come to die. These are the shadows where grey-faced sleep waits, never speaking, never turning. The children fall into the grim peace and no one can follow their red toes into the shroud.
Vulva SongThe curtains are never drawn in the spare room.
Why aren't you coming, why aren't you sitting on the edge of the bath keeping watch right through me?
I feel the carpet and soak up every silent look, store them under my toenails, and I miss you. You exploded,
the bees in the lavender bush are all that's left of you.
Articulated PointsOne year after I met you -
Ill, stricken, your chocolate orange lies
castling across my joints,
I break concave dandelion, seeds
splashing under my gambling shoes.
One year, one month -
They may lay their hides over your favourite
city garden walks, might leave hopeful lip prints
on the glass in your sturdy museum holidays, spit
love-letter typefaces down their ankles or hum in the grey
cold to stay awake for surgery,
and I will coagulate with my dresses,
the void of spoken wordwe are told
but i will dash straight for the ridges underneath your fabrics,
consuming thread like syrup draped sweetly over lyric lungs
and fire-catching dermal layers. i don't feel like
stopping for breath or for the laws of thermodynamics. i
would rather make a new dimension for the two of us
to inhabit in sharp, costly intakes of air. it's the inside
of your sweater, the folds of your elbows
and the brilliant definition of your torso. darling, no
matter what matter comes between our particles
we will absorb it and reform into a new species.
sing my curves and curses sweetly and the tips
of my fingers
my own medicine is killing mesubmission by way
of picking your vagrant hands
off my thighs
and realigning our basest sighs.
can you blame me? i
like the way we try
to stay silent.
baby, defy it;
that keeps us racing.
a laced finger dying
and compliant, the waist
to my lying.
nights you fell into my darknessthere were not even words between us.
i was a shade of jealous
that you submitted to, a cold vignette
of open debts and bells a-ring
and my peals
break new ground and
and i kept my hand
in my lap
there were no words
but the room
Care for a Foxy~ Foxy x Reader pt. 4
I had Foxy and his friend held captive. They're not going anywhere either. "So what am I gonna do with you, young one?" I asked the female. She says nothing, so I stared at her til she gave an answer. "Go to hell!" She mumbles. "What was that?" I asked getting closer to her and ear close. "Go to hell!" She says again. "Hmm... I'm already there, sweetheart. You on the other hand." I pick her up by her uniform. "Are not?" I chuckle evilly as I go on Foxy's side and sat her down in front of him. "Let her go and I'll stay!!" Foxy growled.
I seen that Freddy brought (Y/N) around in front of me and I knew what he was gonna do. "Let her go and I'll stay." I begged, growling a bit. "How about," Freddy started and brought out the golden Freddy costume out ready to stuff (Y/N) inside. "No." He finished. He grins to the sight of my fear. "Please, don't do it." I pleaded. "I'll do what you want." I offered. Freddy looks at me in a thoughtful gaze. "Hmm... Is that a
actions overpower all sound leaving me breathlessdon't trace it this time
don't let the lace shift
in slight wisps
and quick sighs
you have me fully
and attuned to your kind
show me new horizons
and unblemished times of day
redefine my rites
and leave my wrists behind
confine me in your island passion
and surf spine
turn me on a dime
and clutch sand like
no man has
do not outline,
carnivore.every time we touch
in your jaw
in your arms
in the lines down your back
pushing against your skin as though ready to leap out
and devour me
and your lips come so close
finding my neck by instinct
your teeth barely in check
reach for my thrumming jugular
champing at the bit
nipping the flesh but restrained
your nature tamed
so you consume me in another way
with your whole being
pressing so close that our bodies could be one
polluting each other’s lungs with our breath
and you move like fluid into my blood
boiling in my veins
possessing my with a ferocity
that could strip me to the bone
aggression and possession mean the same to you
and you take what you will with force
but you will not pluck me like ripe fruit
because that would make my flesh too sweet
for your palate to bear