my wings are nothing but little machines, you should
pluck them erotically & use their curves as frames.
what are these thorn-like things pumping
through my veins? my decision, free of desire,
was pure compromise. there was nothing left.
what is free of desire? describe the desire of compromise.
now, you may feed me the masochistic thorns of dead
roses & dismantle this catatonic ecstasy you call love.
give me a little injection of melody. this radiophonic
wind is the voice of rhythm. push them in, pierce
my skin & squeeze exactly seven drops of blood.
a terrified pleasure, a ritualistic pulse, rushes in.
Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer and tattoo artist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.
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