You, with handfuls of hemlock
dance about my bed.
Your eyes promise feral futures,
hands push blood
through veins,
pull air through lips and
you ply my mouth with poppies.
Crimson tongue and petals
beat and beat in my mouth
and I, my blood burning,
I dance a rugged rhythm.
Dust dances with us,
freed from the floorboards,
daisy chains and cuckoo-spit
fly from round our necks and
feet somehow stamp without
feeling the floor.
Your fingers are tangled are
knotted with mine
we are crushing the stems
and leaves –palm to palm.
You bite, bite
teeth and tongue pushing
nettles and knotweed
in and round and through my neck,
and my hands? Holding
My teeth and tongue? Biting.
Burning blood is dancing,
hemlock, poppies and nettles
I’m dancing.
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etcetera.online
