There like a mirror
phone to your ear
Cradling the orb of your hipside
With the claws you inspire
in women and girls
Screwing your face into the
Waves putting
Your eyes through the
Spindle hole of the receiver
Pushing comms
Pushing your communist husband
On your wedding anniversary
That you forgot
Because your belly has swollen
And pushes against the
Waistband of your shorts
Because the glistening
Throb of your pelvic muscle
Fucked too much
And loved too many little
Boys to full term
So you sneeze when you pee now
(ngl, it’s pretty funny)
And there in the crevice of your tired foot
A tiny sequin
And two creases in the fabric
Pulled up from your crotch
A memory of a toddler tripping on the
Shingle might cross your eyes
And shock your heart muscle
As you check your breasts for lumps
In the shower
I haven’t written in two months
She calls me to dive for an anchor
I think about it
‘I love her’
I dive for the fuckin thing

My mother’s sister’s name
Has two syllables
That hold whole worlds
Depending on context
(it depends on the context)
She must’ve slackened
like the sun
the skin covering
the word for nose sounds like
the word for uterus
but I never fucked that up before
Knocked kneed in the morning,
perching on the toilet bowl,
remembering not to flush the paper,
yawning like a deck chair,
I feel my own tightrope
And slippery with dew
-I have to get my acrylics removed-
(but then he might not be into that?)
Like, wouldn’t it be amazing if
It happened
Like, and I sneezed or something
And we both just cracked up
It would be absolutely fucking hilarious
In the grey pebble of a British dead end of summer morning like the one I’ve held deep right up high in my cunt all these years
I’d lick lines of crushed Citalopram off the soft marble belly of someone who
‘could love me’
‘I could love you, you know’
He said to me about her
A fucking line from a sitcom
For realsies
And he wants to talk to her he
Wants to love her
We can’t think of a name for our band but
I like ‘Emergency Contraception’
And I put my head on his shoulder and look out
At the sea and I really
Want to say
‘your mother loves you so much, she pees when she sneezes now’
And he pats my arm and looks out
At the sea and he really
Wants to say
‘I know’
But we both know that’s
Not how love works.
Then again we don’t actually know how love works so it’s
Really all we have to hold on to,
for a long time.

(I know how love works from all the books my therapist tells me to read and it’s actually a really, really unattainable product of gentrification, so it might actually be more fun to be pricks to each other, forever.)
Bleed or write or both.
Just remember they are the same thing, but
One is more socially acceptable than the other
But not so much
Because you will always be poor
In blood and wealth
And rich if you can write enough
To pass through yourself.


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