The Compromise of Desire

my wings are nothing but little machines, you should

pluck them erotically & use their curves as frames.

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what are these thorn-like things pumping

through my veins? my decision, free of desire,

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was pure compromise. there was nothing left.

what is free of desire? describe the desire of compromise.

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now, you may feed me the masochistic thorns of dead

roses & dismantle this catatonic ecstasy you call love.

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give me a little injection of melody. this radiophonic

wind is the voice of rhythm. push them in, pierce

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my skin & squeeze exactly seven drops of blood.

a terrified pleasure, a ritualistic pulse, rushes in.

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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.