Bruise bouquet

I can’t focus
with my jaw like this
a faint gag reflex
a dull throb at my molars

I saw your show, years ago:
Your mother’s ghost in
a boat of words
your limbs looked at me
I knew then

I don’t know how;
you say you don’t bruise easy
but there it is,
my mouth over you,
blood blooming
between your elbow and armpit
your arm is the gag
I take in my mouth

Yeah, you say it doesn’t
happen so easy,
but I’ve never met
a riper peach
than the mountain
of your shoulder

 

 

 

 

Molly Lukin writes poetry, short fiction and undefined rants. She has run queer storytelling workshops at HOP Community Centre in Reservoir that focus on autonomy in reconstructing queer narratives. In May, her poems will be read at #GrowFeirce reading series at Bluestockings bookstore in New York.

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