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Riin Lai Apr 2021
I could stare at your back all day
Your shoulder blades slice
Like doves diving into rice milk
Am I being saccharine?
Only for you, my sweet rabbit

If I pry into your ribboned cage
Would I find a tanghulu heart
Or a hollow space where I’ve stolen it?
I hope it has found a home in my mouth
Despite the high chance of cavity

At least I have you to fill the empty hole between my lips.
charlotte Apr 2021
A fox sits in the forest at the foot of my house.
Each morning
she intertwines with the sunrise, materialising through graceful leaps
It leaves me breathless;
all I can do is bathe in awe.

One morning I extend my hand
and she engulfs me, gracefully
I become whole again. We dash through trees
and fields and meadows

She dances, and leads me gently to the tips of the earth
Her breath resounds against hillsides, and as I fall
I catch almost a glimmer of
light-dipped roses, and golden daffodils.
Juno Feb 2021
tea
oh!
my tea has grown cold in the time i have sat here
and dreamed of you.
end Jan 2021
i lay at night
wondering what it might be like
to see your eyes when you come undone
and he's in your thighs

and then i remember
how i surrendered that luxury
when i let go of my heart

what a startle it was
when i looked up and found that i was not alone
before my eyes you denounced my lies
and pleaded with my dying soul

but that wasn't nearly enough
fray narte Jan 2021
maybe if you skin me alive, we’ll both know, finally, that this rotting chest is no place for you to leave love songs lying around. you see, my heart is both a soft and cruel place; each beat, a subtle atrocity to spilling outbreaths — a sheath for keeping your hunting knife. if you skin me alive, you’ll see the ghost towns after a new year’s eve. the slow dancing of grief before it screams its way out. the stab wounds, quiet and unhealing between cotton rows. the afterglow, graying at human touch.

if you skin me alive, you’ll see that there is no place for you here. you’ll see trembling. you’ll see staying still. you’ll see running away and never looking back. both wonder, and a conundrum — maybe more of one than the other.

these days, i am no longer sure if i am writing you love letters or writing you all my goodbyes.

maybe it’s more of one than the other —




maybe it always was.
Juno Jan 2021
My fingers dance across your skin
and small constellations I trace;
There rests Aries on your collar,
and Andromeda frames your face.

Though you’ve labeled these stars a flaw,
I can’t stop myself from thinking
Aphrodite herself did bring
these small constellations to being.
you are beautiful!
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