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Jennifer Aug 2018
‘are you lonely?’
my reflection asks,
her fingertips touching mine.
‘no,’ i smile

‘i have you.’
maybe my own company isn’t so bad after all.
Jennifer Aug 2018
i see you, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
pointed ears, alert - afraid?
can you hear me breathing?

i know, grave burrower,
i know where you hide.
you hide under cracked stones
where decaying bodies lie.
i see your nose twitch, grave burrower,
can you smell the death?

your garden is bountiful, grave burrower,
it’s a beauty to behold.
how did you get it so beautiful -
are their roots cradled by bones?

i wonder if you see them, grave burrower,
smell them, feel them;
the spirits of the buried.
do you know something about death
that we don’t?

i know you see me, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
your wide eyes see in every direction.
can you see me staring?
Jennifer Mar 2018
fingertips tapping upon
translucent glass.
blurred skin on the opposite side,
pink, pressed up blotches of
arm and leg,
lip and ear,
hair and head.

alone on the other side,
lack of colour and lack of light.
watch them through the see-through wall,
just the swing of a bunched up fist
could break the fall.

the fall of light within the room,
the dim sound of laughter
from the other side,
the lack of voice that resides

on this side.
waiting is silent,
solitary in a cell of glass confinement.

an hour, another,
more time slips past,
when the room gets darker
so does the glass.
Jennifer Mar 2018
when we are finally under covers,
feel my chest rising and sinking
into you.

i miss your touch
though i’ve never felt it.
touch me all you please;
steam up my brain
till i collapse into you.

under the covers
it is warm. its where i imagine
you - holding me close
passing your strange fingers
through my hair,

prising my heart out of its place.
Jennifer Feb 2018
sometimes wish my skull was hollow,
sometimes i think it is.
brain replaced with pansies,
flourishing from liquid dreams.

face blank; staring into
unfocused air.
cursed with a sleeping brain,
blessed with its craftsmanship.

memories caught on tape.
scenarios rolling smoothly;
every moment, invoked upon personally.

worries creep in like Japanese knotweed -
can’t ever get rid of it all.
most of all, thoughts like shattered glass
make me bleed from unusual places.

sometimes wish my skull was hollow,
sometimes i think it is.
feel like i exist more in my head
than i do here.
Jennifer Feb 2018
wish the waves
moved like your mouth;
speaks to me
like the crash of water
upon the shore.

drunk on you
like water to wine
and i watch your words form
in the waves.
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