It's Still Life

12th Night

a red-handed wind carries that sort
of crow-black heat. a curious quiet
that’s always just off the boil.
a rapt listener; devourer of flush

and glow; delver into sweeps and swarms.
grabs and gasps. your ear. your neck.
your heart. boils your bones whilst
painting shadows wherever there’s

a vacancy. heat, just heat.
it has to rise. it has to twitch
like a fury. unrequited words.
unanticipated as red lipstick.

an eruption. run and run like
a shimmering sweat painting
muscles with that rippling effect.
It’s a Steam-Hissing Libido.

written for Miz Quickly and Sunday Whirl #254.
Title borrowed from poem of the same name by Sandra Simonds
Whirl’s words: erupt, shimmering, crow, paint, shadow, fury, ripple, boiling, rise, swarm, park, sweep