When you kiss me my whole body feels like a catacomb

You unzip me.      Open
me like a
cadaver, right
to the                marrow.
The violence of our
shakes the walls.

You wrack-and-screw
bruises in
pectorals.            I glow
colours of
rot, hands turned
up, and
I become a catacomb.

I’ve learned to covet
salt of pain:
It means you’re close.

I slip a vital
between your

You look divine –the
cord of my
life in one       hand,
scissors in the other–

biting down,
atriums, aorta.








Vince Ruston is a writer and Voiceworks editor originally hailing from Hobart. They are undertaking RMIT’s Bachelor of creative writing and interning for The Lifted Brow. They have been published in Voiceworks, Scum-Mag, Rabbit Poetry Journal, Catalyst and Gore Journal. You can find them on WordPressTumblr and Twitter.

Image by Henric Silversnö

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.