Art

in a circle of light, we fuck – Lina Limonov

when I sit

 

beneath skin 
there are no nerves
blood makes its idiot path

the act of giving is
too much yet it’s all i am allowed

my blood, made of water
cells, salts, proteins

reinforcing my boundaries
hasn’t helped

my blood moronic 
made of sugars which
when burnt wreck their atoms
with surrounding air

let the dirt take my love

you don’t deserve to
hurt me anymore 

my reticent sugars pop 
malleable, new
forming matter from 
what appears invisible

at 162 degrees human skin 
is destroyed on contact

napalm burns sixteen times hotter

 

in a circle of light, we fuck

 

dear soft boy
i am writing to 
you from beneath

a full landscape of being
sweat in my flame retardant blankets
your pictures spread out

and dulcet voice
betrays your secrets
withholding how

to be less loud
you’re like a task
i want to crack

my jealousy feathers
i stalk and think of myself
like molly

restrained by her
love if only you
you could see

all her free thoughts
hoarded in code
her platinum hair

forever fixed in braids
one face in
my sooted skin

which squeals like
coal when chewed
a grave of many

i won’t forget 
how she said
pray for me

 

slapped

 

i am blindfolded, leathered, strapped 
we have better sex when

i’m scolded
then i’m thinking not of him

but hair i want
in my mouth

the sweet, astringent quell
spit mixing on my tongue

our lips touch
his mouth, heavy

to imagine the mouth of 
the other, the way they

might imagine mine
doused in water

or petrol sweet
enough to burn

by 2 a.m.
it will be dry

i sleep, i am not alone
and yet