Because your eyes answered the questions
she refused to ask,

because her clothes became an expression
of her wish to be undressed,

because she began to see the moon
as the embodied ache of her chest,

because, on nights she couldn’t sleep,
she counted all the ways to say your name,

because she began to dream of being eaten,

she fed the flames of her frustrations
until she burnt bright like a November sky.

© Keighley Perkins


About handshedown

Keighley Perkins is a Cardiff-based poet whose influences include Anis Mojgani, Selima Hill and Richard Brautigan. Her work has previously been published in "Acumen", "Elbow Room", "Erbacce", "Fire", "Northwind" and "Obsessed with Pipework". She can also be found online on Twitter at @handshedown. View all posts by handshedown

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