My room is infested with bedbugs
I’m covered in bites, not love bites

I want to borrow gods
(as Adrienne does,
though she knew better)
their sad logic
their templates

Turn the mud. Bo Peep’s head tumbles out,
wide-eyed, mouth a little open.

you are the shadow slipping through the mirror

We’re stuck on a scene, frozen, like the ice cubes I begged Mum to get with the little flowers in them. Like taking a test in the school gym but your knees are so big they’re banging into the desk.

Afternoon hangs in the air, and the birds leave.
Frogs begin to talk to each other, and the heat congeals.
 

If you could call that friend,
the special one,
the one you always love and know loves you