Open up the hide, William, the insects are gonna get it.
They won’t. It takes a while in this heat, they’re slow and crazed.
All the more reason to…
Shhh… Dar, Come inside.
William beckoned from within the animal’s body. He crouched inside its ribcage. Scarlet beads rivered down his cheekbones. And sweat mingled with saliva on his lips.
Your flesh, in its hide
Come you’ll say,
You too, ey?
Let’s go now.
And we were born ~
Pink Was Never My Colour
Long, Dark, Deep and Rich,
Blood red tinged with cerise and battered in bruise,
Drenched in mud, spit and soaked in Rouge,
Pink was never my colour.
If necessary, it would be Salmon,
Freshly caught from a glacial stream in British Columbia.
Sliced open across the belly by one with Reverence
For its waters, its beating bleeding heart, its very last breath—
One who held its flesh to his own lips,
Dripping, succulent, wet
Swallowed to fill and vitalize his own heart.
In that case, yes —
Salmon is my colour.
Lay pink to the seagulls.
On a salted rock where the sun bleaches, dries and dyes it a darker stain.
Then, maybe I’ll taste.
Flesh, Life, and Death in One.
Tingle With Words
My arms tingle with words
From the shoulders
Holding captive my triceps,
Patrolling down my forearms,
Jumping over and bumping each other,
Skipping ahead in line to come out.
But I only have ten fingers.
Please keep in line
(So you can make sense to me)
But they never do.