“The Haunting”

A darkness fleeting.

Your own light bulb,

crushed under your own two feet.

A smear of blue.

A drop of red,

on your stomach,

the side of his bed.

A danger,

a relic.

“Convince me,”

he says.

You can still see his voice,

a shadow,

dripping in barbed desire.

Something tangled up,

between your thighs,

around your pretty neck.

It was only the sheets.

 

 

“Sailorman’s Hymn”

Perched on a yellow line,

a key wedged under her tongue.

She’s waiting,

for what I do not know.

She’s surrounded,

by bottle brush tails,

and burnt orange coats.

Plenty of suitors,

come to play,

their throats wrapped in fluorescent scales.

But she is still in the dark.

There was this man,

you see,

a brave thing.

He was the lock to her key.