Hear this spoken:


The heat of our necks pressed against impress

My imperfect darling.

Warm stone, cold face, warm face, cold stone

Stencils lace and linger.


Crevice of your knuckles a scattered silk

And timed vows of rupture

Spreading our lines to a suburban fence

And tongues imprint hot cheeks.


A glove of gentle rolling brands lips

And the unravelled wool –

That knits itself onto my undone heart

Left sated by the null.


A discordant life leaves a harmony

That’s scored into my chest

Swirling of fingers between my ribcage

Makes lovely war and sweat.


Dates and numbers are the tint on a lash

Left on a pillowcase

And the figure implanted in the sheet –

Our chronicle of taste.