Your Tongue is a Penny Tails Up

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In sparkling whirls, the burning turns  

dark, grins the burnt-corked grin 

of all men singed, of all men still gripped  

by the whistling subway, the golden sprung  

of the fire lily against cream-tiled suburb,   

the luxurious spark of heel against muscle.  

The smoke whispers above, a faint perfume  

scented as the skin on the back of your hands,  

as buckling before the half-bent leaves,  

as our gentle hunger,  

as the infinite stir of every man  

under the dry rain  

waiting.  

 

“YOUR TONGUE IS A PENNY TAILS UP” is a poem I wrote in 2018. It was published in the hellebore press, which you can read online.

The accompanying photography for this piece was shot by Audrey Gretz.