from the Art of Escape
Busted lips
taste like passion
Busted lips
taste like pride
Busted lips
taste like
red hot words,
too many angles,
sibling rivalry.
Lick them raw.
They flake away in
pink translucent pieces,
bleed a little more.
The ghost of the giver,
the badge of the orgy.
By now it doesn’t
matter who was right
or whether it was lust or hate
that delivered the blow.
All that matters
is that thumping ache,
that sweet mix of iron and flesh.
You are human after all.
“To a Fighter” first appeared in Alien Buddha Press (April 2024, ABZ61 Edition).
