post-sinking sun,
i’ll be in the mirror’s view.
stripping myself of a scratchy linen,
obscuring a writhing bedbug-mass.

unpolished and unwinding,
a statue wound of string,
and what does its untying leave behind?

little but a ghost,
a rainbow spectre,
sculpted from merest blankness.

a flow of reflective quicksilver-skin,
edifice of a million portraits.
i am a shapeshifters visage, truly.

allow me be painted in your desires,
more likely your irritation,
you’ll soon forget me either way,
but i still hope i’ll linger in your heart.

this plummet is a more graceful kind of topple,
dancing down the cliffside edge,
and i have decades yet to fall.

exhausting, all of it,
and here still i am,
in spite.
It tastes like salt.

my blood soon will freeze in my veins,
it’s burned too hot,
thought too long,
and the echo in my reflection tires of this waltzing lie.
there are worse ways to die,
but this isn’t the best.

maybe i’ll leave this place one day,
find myself ‘neath the sun’s heat,
‘neath appraising burns of azure-eyed gazes,
unwrapped and unmasked,
taste air touched by a first,
blue sky.

maybe i won’t,
and maybe i’ll live off coffee,
stale oxygen,
and replace the sun with a fluorescent lightbulb.

maybe i’ll leave this earth one day,
shoot higher,
a planet circling round a brighter sun,
and i’ll be naked in the empty,
and i’ll be loud in the quiet.

maybe i’ll get there one day,
my tomorrow running away,
and i’ll catch it like fireflies through the holes in my net,
like fish slippery as butter leaped from my fingers,
like the moon chases the sun and the sun chases the moon.

post emancipations dream,
i’ll cradle it close,
let it be mine for a moment,
and i’ll keep it in my ribcage,
let it warm my heart,
wrap it up in linen and say,
‘i’ll let you out one day’.

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