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Literature Text
His hands live in her crevices,
as bored mandibles that consume
flesh. They focus, myopic,
on pink-tinted, supple skin,
passing intent across synapses.
A rush of blood, sanguine triggers;
itchy finger. Intentions of tiny death
flow eye to eye; rods strain
against empty cones. Dilation follows.
Poppies, too, spread their petals wide
before being devoured, slopping
on the lips of this beast.
He's nourished by her
endorphic release.
as bored mandibles that consume
flesh. They focus, myopic,
on pink-tinted, supple skin,
passing intent across synapses.
A rush of blood, sanguine triggers;
itchy finger. Intentions of tiny death
flow eye to eye; rods strain
against empty cones. Dilation follows.
Poppies, too, spread their petals wide
before being devoured, slopping
on the lips of this beast.
He's nourished by her
endorphic release.
Literature
Originals
Originals
The conch's twist holds
an old world. Just beyond the glossy rim
where the shell curves out of sight
a half-full bottle plunges
into the sea. The green glass
has no end, its sides spreading
light like a coloured lens. But this ocean
is a dark edge, as if eyes had never lifted
its hard dermis. A wave curls
and becomes icecream in a turqouise bowl. You
are here, looking through spirals at someone else
who is you. The bowl empties
and a cold signifier stings the skull.
This time it is no echo
of the sea's thousandfoot rush, or the tang
of stale salt inhaled from a pinkwhite lip. This time
you are there. The ic
Literature
Teachers to the Dead
While we slept,
you strapped your arm around
my chest like armor and possession,
like ‘this one belongs to me.’ Together, we are
teaching the things that haunt us
to lie down in their graves.
Here, like this
your demons say to mine as
they demonstrate the art of behaving.
Together, we secure their
broken bodies and set them into six feet of
downward motion.
(but we do not follow
we cannot go in their stead)
They do not know they’re dead. It’s
always a blow when we break the news.
They find themselves jealous of our
human skin and our inhaling
exhal
Literature
Swish-Cthunk
Today I went down to the Bureau of Words to trade in my autumn onomatopoeia. Usually I put it off until at least the end of November, but this year the squelch-thud of my boots in the mounds of soggy leaves brought me up sharp. I went home, gathered my dry snaps, crackles and swooshes, as well as the cheerful spthooshk of a water balloon left over from August and headed down to the department. The rain hurried down to meet my umbrella, an excellent winter sound for which I had no words. But that would soon change.
The stooped man at the front desk greeted me with a finger to his lips. "We're running the barnyard tests, so we've got to be v
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The title has been changed. Otherwise, it's the same.
Comments/criticism still appreciated.
Comments/criticism still appreciated.
© 2007 - 2024 underwaterview
Comments9
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whoa, shouldn't this be under "erotic"? i likes it anyways