Thursday, 19 April 2012

18: Coral

Alone in the bar
waiting for you. My

skin is the window
I peer through—

no curtains here,
none of your bubbles

squeegee foam
on my panes.

Everything is so
fucking clear

like Christmas-tree coral
behind glass. Aquarium

fish wait to
nibble my lobes.

I look at my palms
and they’re glowing.

Pale pink acetate
wrapped round
the bulb.

No comments:

Post a Comment