By Nikita Tilak


CN: Sex, sexual violence, violent imagery


One toe reaches to heaven.
Your hand goes deeper than my throat;
it clings to my spinal cord.
My leg twists on the scuffed leather –

Now kicks, now sinks through your pelvis,
feasts on your groins.
Your shoulder fights through the
hazy mass of hot blood, of veins.

It bumps my ribs, bumps, bumps –
my toe plunges back to earth,
plunges right down into
your head, through coarse hair, touches base – a CRACK!

I think my toe is inside your skull;
it writhes in the brain.
I release myself; you are sticky
and uncomfortable.

Your fist curls on my stomach.
I feel it dive down,
wriggle through my gut,
fondle my kidneys.

They are two stress balls in your big hands.
You squeeze out the fluid, your fingers drop lower –
you are looking to fill the spots, to balance me,
to find the other piece of the pair.

(I catch your searching hand)

Darling. Do not look, it is not there.
A glimpse of us in your filthy mirror –
stops my heart.
We are all inside out.

I look away and focus on the crack
on the ceiling.
It is prettier than us;
Paris and Helen look on and laugh.

Header image by tory ridgway

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