Skinning words, two-part arrivals

Skinning words, two-part arrivals

She came back, suddenly
   god eats your soul
At 3.47 this morning
  like a custard tart
I’ve learnt not to ask
  pushing the crumbs of boundary
Where she’s been
  from the corners of mouths
I turn over, put my head
  a knave of bachelors
Between her shoulder and breast
  wayward as a slipped jib
The way I know she likes
  splitting out of the skein
Later she’ll stir, put
  the incomplete scrabbling
Her head on my flokati chest
  where the marks dug through
Place her hand over mine
  searing in the tangled keen
Rise a little, gently
   I will come to a Holy City
Push her lips onto mine
   bathe in these cyan waters
And make me breathe again
   to make me breathe again

First published in Rye Whisky Review edited by John Patrick Robbins June 2018
Unstill Mosaics The Book of Love, Loss, and Longing 2019

Rockwell Kent

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