SMOKE

SHENG KAO

 
 

Born again in a strange boy’s bed.
Naked, covered in spit
and ash and speckled sheets.
Scorching myself on his mouth,
tar from his tongue trapping me here.
My skin peeled away like cooled wax.
I shivered with my plumage gone
and knew that this was not the boy who loved me.
He ate me served on abalone
and dressed with ice and pepper.
He whet his throat with my blood.
He clawed me open
and stuffed me with broken glass.
I knew this would happen,
I asked for the sharp burn,
I begged for the soothe of his touch.
His hair left razor-cuts on my hands –
my palms left prints of blood
on his heaving torso. He dissected me
with the blade hidden in his pants.
I became butcher-meat
underneath him. We burned
like hellfire in consummation.
We smothered. We smoldered sweetly
like incense, steaming like fresh-gutted kill,
our intestines and empty chest-cavities
offerings upon the altar.
We throbbed in tandem pulse.
Our silhouettes at twilight,
trembling together.
Shared blackness breaking apart
in the dim, fragments of memory.

 

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