Kitty Sullivan


Do you still feel the sting
when you dream of kissing me?

Just like that gin-fuelled morning
I exhausted you for another mans' lips.
Or that night we lay together;
your eyes watering as you began
to peel off my clothes.
Scattering them around
your bedroom like confetti;
did you think you were
skinning an onion? The whole of me
bitter, transparent, flaking away
from between your fingers.

Stop moping over old photographs
of us coupled together
like cherries. One last time
bite into me,
blood your lips,
choke on my stone.


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