I’m threading chunks of time on a string
bloody purplish gristly cubes
they slip sinewy and slick on my fingers and
stain the sheets
spatters of strawberry red
give off the sexy-filthy intimate smell of beach coves away from the wind
where it’s warm and protected and the ocean’s sweat lazes in postcoital gentleness
while the sound of the breakers booms a satisfying distance above, beyond
seagulls cry and tease the ragged exciting air up there
but we’re safe here
those grisly bits of meat, the bits of time I want to eat
stick in my teeth
and taste of
juniper berries and suncream and peanut butter and aged reisling today
tomorrow it’s salted caramel, meat pies, prosecco and lonelieness
so beautiful that
I want to spew them back up and taste them fresh, yet
on each regurgitation they’re more grey and flavourless
senseless time, and time rotting on my plate
Skipping ahead to day 26: a poem that includes images that engage all five senses.
My synaesthesiate brain is jumping with joy for this poem.
“the sexy-filthy intimate smell of beach coves away from the wind”
ARGH. This is BEAUTIFUL.
Bits of meat, stick in my teeth.