Tag Archives: love

Carrion Kisses

I should’ve seen the black

dirt under your fingernails,

or smelt the perfume lingering

at your neck.


But your elbow, touching mine as we sat watching Countdown, kept you hidden in my laugh, in the twinkle of a sigh.


You came home late once,

brought me roses. Every

kiss a kitten-scratch on my

cheek, piercing, reddening.


But your fingers, lacing mine as we walked through the museum, quoting Shakespeare and Keats, made me smile through a cry.


You’d bite blood oranges through

their flesh, peel back the rind

like the skin from my lips, sucking

rubies between your gap-tooth.


But your scent, clouding me as we lay on sticky sheets at 4am, got caught on my tongue. I forgot the black eye.


Published by Turbulence Magazine: Issue 10



Garden Shed

In a splintered, cobwebbed cave

my brother and I

make pies from dirt and stone.

We snuck the tarnished spoon,

from an unguarded door,

frosted like forgotten breath

on a window pane.

We dip the dull head

into wet earth,

stirring carefully,

breaking up clumped clots

of brown and maroon,

serving up the warmth.