izzy

the scent of sex and bacon mingling,
lingering and twisting, touching fingertips
sunlight creeping in like bolts of silk

and the delicacy of your hands cracking eggs

*

sarah

I pulled on my scuba gear and climbed into my own chest
With a plastic flag to plant in the sandy silt at the bottom
A burbling crowd of curious onlookers circled the banks
And I sank
Light and colour and noise all drifted away, far up above
The sinkhole became a keyhole becomes a pinhole
And I sink
And time
Slows
…
..
.
With a depth-drunk brain I see the oxygen tank and I see the little pointer and I see it’s in the red
There are bubbles in my fingertips and I’m blinking through stars
Dancing merrily I can’t catch them though I swoop my pruny hands to try
And a slug of a thought like lead in my head oozes slowly up and says
‘You’re going to die down here’
But real elongated, like
‘Yooooouuuuuuu’rrrrrreeeee goooooiiiiiinnnnngggg ttttttoooooooo ddddddiiiiiieeeeee’
And it sounds like a record set on the wrong speed
And with champagne in my fingers I laugh and I laugh
Slowly
Slowly
…
..
.
My mouth torn open and I can’t remember what for
From the outside it must look like I’m screaming

*