Honeycomb and needle
If the moon could talk she would talk like you
Beautiful and cold all at once
Antiquity worships Jupiter for placing shadows and light into the minds of marble men
I dip my finger into my existence
God on my tongue, but the apple core is stuck in my throat
Being tastes like nothing

the world
of course she didn't expect it to be small at all but it helps with the feeling of being able to breathe something other than London air and guilt
that's the strangest feeling in the end of all things and accompanies her like a dog during errands and hobbies and nights out curling in her lap in the dark of a too empty living room
you look so much like your mother
a generation can see a moment of a womb misplaced, a misstep in spring dances and the smell of grass and the feeling of white stone walls
dignitaries never expected a star to come from your brother's wife first
daughter of this not-eve never-eve
remember the ache in your own heart at your sister's cries
back arched like the curve of your bow
spine click and bones moving
organs
and another piece of the girl in old shoes by a lamppost spills out into their wardrobe world
you look nothing like your mother
not a queen but a body of two syllables heavy with teeth behind
red lips
she wears disappointment like lipstick and air and London fog
be magnificent
be just
be valiant
but gentle is only a slap in the face
and even God couldn't stop a war
a letter
a train

Abigail’s a pretty one
Even with dead rye on the brain
Scurrying under couches
The foot is dead

February’s heavy and ours victory a *****
As much mine as she is yours
Squeeze into my dress
Pale sky and grey skin is hard to scrub out
Squeeze into my dress
And become a human being
There’s too much of you
Of me

Betty’s a kind soul
And I hear she still grants forgiveness
Telling me
“I guess I’m an underwater thing so I guess I can’t take it personally.”  
Get it out the system
Rocks in your legs
Line me up in single file
With all your grievances
Sinking in a gentle pool of wine and water
I don’t know which one Jesus really wanted to change

I taste her in the water
She’s going off with confusion
Not
Persephone

“So I must be flowing.”
Out for God
Out for them

I pray the lord
My soul to keep
It
Just between us

in your town, your not town, God is like the dust that cakes your shoes and socks and feet no matter how many times you wash them on Sundays.
he gets caught in your eyelash and keeps your heartbeat in a broken pocket watch filled with cotton
you hear someone calling your name. the pocket watch ticks and you rub the dirt further into your eye.
you do not answer.

catherine is in blue
and bandages her finger with grass and a feather
her mother is sure she took on grace whilst in the womb
who is first and and yet an afterthought?
catherine is bleached
between girls breathing rococo and the washing machine that doesn’t distinguish the separation of her name or fabric
ever maid
where does she go and you begin?
that brother has the ocean compressed in his eyes
and it’s the ships that go by in the night
that make her as penitent as the Magdalene
catherine is moving
and if she takes on the sun it’s best to leave some in Catalonia
if she carves herself in flesh
she should do so herself

with Apollo forgotten and filtered through
dangling leaves of willows and waterlogged flowers
bunches of peonies and rosemary
some red in there too (all the better for the boy's deed)
she floats on water
and cannot remember how to feel the sun
or how to be tender
with this much blood in her mouth

Ophelia, Ophelia,
voracious daydreamer,
how dare you
upset this delicate orbit.
your hands were the kiln
for my sloppy and misshapen mind,
but that was nothing,
relatively, compared to the way
your eyes reflected lost souls.
my dear, it's a catastrophe.

now when the moon chides me,
and the stars reek of your smile,
I run my hands across
the fronts of empty dresses
that you wore years ago.
Ophelia, Ophelia,
I recall the way your eyes shone
like the peak of madness
and how your shoulder blades
touched in a subtly avian manner.

how simple are the remnants
of your existence, of your melancholia,
I cling to them like a ***** to touch-
and I know they will bring you no closer.
stale shadows haunt my lingering eyes;
where you should be standing
I see only lost time.

Ophelia, Ophelia,
smoldering star in my hindsight,
stone in my chest-
I'm sad to see you go.

To love the dark

Has the dark ever made you feel as lonely as he did when he broke your heart to pieces with his bare hands?
Did it ever keep you up at night like you did crying over him?
Has he ever enveloped you like the darkness has, clinging to your silhouette as gentle as a silk sheet?

The dark night will keep you safer than love ever could
It removes image and vanity
It doesn't discriminate
The dark will never be greedy or callous

The nights love stretches further than your dreams, further than the miles of blank horizon that promises to be anything you desire
The nights beauty will touch you in ways love could never
The moons light, the stars shine, the sunsets warm tendrils

Step outside
Let the crisp night air caress your naked figure
The night shall always descend to comfort your soul
Love descends only into swirling resent

KG

the forest in June

i can feel the trees breathing, the wind whirring past their twirling leaves
the bark is course and clammy beneath my hands, notches and winding paths telling my palm a story of ages past
i can almost reach out and grasp the dancing smell of pine and wisps of a cloying floral tone
it's almost too heavy to breathe, and yet it fills my lungs with omnipotent liquid sun
flowers snake into my throat and down, deep into my chest
settling their roots like worms on my diaphragm
i exhale deeply and my breath leaks out like a creeping fog
it dissipates and past it my eyes bleed onto my cheeks,
dazzlingly delightful colours fill my vision, blossoming over my brain
and all I can think is how wonderful it must be
for my heart of green
to belong to the breeze

KG

Thin-blooded. Such is the nature of the dreams that offer you a sliver of paradise, only to be whisked aweigh at the slightest breeze of stale consciousness.