sparkling water

Frizzling,

sparkling water

effervescent

trepidation

on the edge

of serenity

 

capsules of gas

clumped up like

clams

coating the bottle’s

edges

 

a few brave ones

push off

shoot off

towards the glimmering

exit sign.

the portal to the

external

breathing world.

 

they start off

timidly advancing

upwards,

trembling,

trying to justify their

actions,

then…

pop!

off they go

hitting the water

surface,

and disappearing

with a glint

 

a cry for freedom

from the ones left

behind as you

close the bottle

crum-pets

crumpets

my tongue taps the palate

twice

two consonants

bounce

pounce

between my

lips

 

i sweetly formulate

the word and

it languidly

glides down

onto the plate

like butter

 

mewling in pleasure

the syllables

sink into

the miracle before me;

 

and under the sunlight

it’s color teeters between

golden hair and

creamy licks.

 

its edges break silence

crisply with

compliance

as teeth create

clean cuts,

and slice,

rip,

scratch it apart

like one of pavlov’s

dogs

 

mercilessly,

ceaselessly,

but with method.

 

and i’ll be left

with crumbles that have

nowhere left to go

like lost children in a

mall,

they desperately

recompose try not to

decompose

after a moment of trepidation-

i edge closer,

jaw slack,

sticking my tongue out-

they land on it quite

bluntly

like land mines exploding

into last flakes of

pleasure

 

… it’s gone

 

i guess i’ll toast another-

the butter’s out of the fridge

anyway

aluminum plates/airplane ride

It feels so raw,

skin burns on every surface I

press onto.

I’m slicing myself up

to fit into the small seat

compartment

where both handles by

my side are magnets

pulling towards each other

 

the plane aches too.

like my mind,

it swindles,

wobbles,

trembles for a split

second.

before allowing a moment

of catatonic stillness

 

stillness that’s ready to

pounce

my thoughts

ready to bounce

off any

surface, just waiting

for the night light

to shine orange,

or the unlatching

of a seatbelt.

 

anything to grasp on to

hungrily, and

claim it

for its own,

interlaced with

the past,

and

maybe something

stranger.

 

i’ll sit back and allow

it all to

linger

not like in the movies

it wasn’t a spark

it was nothing so romantic

but it kept our hearts

squealing

beating

silently

languidly

under each other’s

fingernails

 

and it licks my lips close

and tickles my teeth.

Ungraspable-

i want to be able

to look past your eyes

catch whispers of ramblings

as you skip two steps

or catch your breath

and hold it in for a second too long-

what do you think of then?

 

i’ll spill out my fears

splay them out on the table

like cards,

shards of my nonsensical mind,

you can pick what you want

or just rip them all in halves or quarters.

 

and this heart can’t expect,

but here I am;

 

and I want to know

how your lashes cut like

the edge of a waning crescent

or maybe how they feel on my skin

after a shower,

 

or count the times you’ve

mumbled velleities about how

you don’t like your freckles

on the seams of

your cheeks

 

and everyday

we’ll stretch like a

spring

bounce back

retract

come back

 

it won’t be perfection

more like a dissection

of this affection

(p.s and that’s what i love about it)

 

 

between my two front teeth/an ode to nature

it’s like a gasp,

mouthful of mountain air

after spending

3AM

underwater

 

i’ve finally

raised my head

let the crickets

cradle my hair,

wind straighten my shoulders

and ill let birdsongs

stretch my lips apart

so earth can fit through

the gap between my

two front teeth

 

green, green of

morning leaves,

rustling trees,

broken knees

stitched back up

by the arborescent

fingers and strips

of creation

 

i feel its

majesty

bow down to me

as i bow down to

it.

it’s sacred tongue

glides over the

wrinkles on my

hands, between my

toes and thighs

 

i’ll let myself fall

back for once

into that cosmic

perfection

something dirty

I’m tired

underwired

the way words conspired

between bicycle wheels

-head over heels-

metaphors

running on an

exhaust fan

trying to cram

in

something magical

mystical

over-used

logistical

sayings

about how the moon reflects

in your eyes

once or twice

or

how your freckles

look like gemstones

stop romanticising

shiny shimmering

things

swings of love

not everything takes flight like a

dove

I’ve heard too much

about how you want to

learn, earn

constellations

or how one day

you’ll down 3 bottles

of beer and whisper

to your sister about how the sun

looks like her blister

 

you got yourself stuck

in a tongue twister

you’ve run out of words

like crystal clear,

icy cold, sharp as a spear

 

i want the filthy

part of your syllables,

ones you take back

cut off some slack

throw me back with

words that

catalyse

paralyse

your nerves

with swerves and

turns of words

let the tired sun,

moon, stars

rest for once

put them behind

bars

give me something

dirty

something jerky

something that does not

click

that shows no mercy

 

tell me about how

you dissect that

small body of yours

bust through those doors

to my mother//tug of war

broken thorns

scratch

catch

against

supple skin

arborescent fingertips

spin

vines around

the heart

the lungs

 

and you’ll want to exhale

but your ribcage

is climbing up

your throat

and you’ll want to

stay afloat

through the wetblack

glimmering

river of –

 

hope

strangling

despair

dangling from

anger

sprawling over

affection

 

it’s a tug of war

we switch between being

the rope

and the

hands

pulling,

pushing

each other apart

just to restart.

 

we’re both trying

to glimpse past

the haze between

our eyelashes

squeeze past –

sneak past,

the gap between

our two front teeth –

the gap between,

our heart,

our words

 

and we try,

and try,

and cry

and try

trip over each other’s

broken pieces

with glue in our hands

intentions

waiting for attention

 

sneaking glimpses

 

calloused fingers

spilling over the other’s cheeks

wiping away tears

and

dust from

everyday life

sinking into comfort

with a twinge of pain

but it’s home

anyway

so we don’t stare

anyway

 

and in the end

we look out

windows,

where the rain starts

abruptly

and we’ll be

softly

grazing,

gazing at the sky

 

and

we’ll find each other’s

shapes

in clouds

and sounds of

faraway lullabies