Thinly veiled and cosy like a blanket,
soaked ice and nails.
The soul is gone,
vanished like water on grey in the sun
A body, of skin, a shell.
To touch without softness,
tightly wound, bleeding onto creamy flesh.
Surfaces marked by rubbing of finger tips
on mesh. The body; that body
poured soft and smooth and dancing
across water, stark, blue, soaring.
The combinations are endlessly…
switching up softly, hardly changing.
A hard, thin shell.
With steel packed, pinching.
Movement halted in it’s own tracks.
White dust that drips
congealed like custard.
It starts off fast and slows
to a slow, lazy crawl.
Look past the future and sweep
your arm and turn your head. Restricted.
Imprint on me
Imprint of you
The shadow of something
Skin. Bone. Marked by rubbing fingers
Three women standing
gathered on the edge of the space.
Ghosts not of themselves.
With her back to us
Needles. Bleeding. Pushing through
Drip onto the floor.