One Hundred and Seventeen.


Izzy circle


two black eyes and the glint of teeth like white fire
grinning friendly and alert and ready for dusk
looking desperate for the dawn, looking
looking for something to grip onto
swallowing night like it ain’t no thang –
cos it ain’t no thing, it’s just an absence
it’s no more than the absence of light
it’s no more than what you let it be
it’s more of a lope than a strut
but I want to believe it’s a strut
bring on the night, bring on the
dark and gaping maw, hold it in
cupped hands of air and shadows
two black eyes and nothing to show for it


Sarah circle


Two years on, standing in the bathroom with a bottle of Exit Mould in my right hand
And a catch meandering somewhere in my throat
I finally realised, suddenly, strikingly
That this was a manner of loving that I had never yet encountered
And did not recognize
And had only just begun to understand



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