Literature
First
Gossamer threads thin
but tight like vines, veins running
quick and smooth from moment to moment
down my arms into my fingers-tips
ice floating haphazardly, the tip
of me glowing around the edge
just burning paper.
The man at the door said your name
and my hip began to ache.
Pulsing strobe light pain
beating like an ocean wave, the shore
greeting it with meek pleas
'Please, don't stay'
And repeat.
The satellites
flash technicolour in the sun
haiku's fill me up
I remember there was blood, and your eyes
were so dark. So very,
very dark.
The man at the door calls out
and the night sky hugs his words tight.
Bright in comp