Agnieszka Studzinska
Hotel
If this is the language of shadow
then darkness is something lighter than imagined
disclosing like evidence -
the way smoke spells invisible
a pendulum of broken web
hanging in his throat
as he counts minutes on the breaths he rends,
like intimacy -
a silence of no obligation
how that also rives - lightening
in summer in all the summers before this -
an us in a four walled-otherness
on a plight of biographies, backbones and wings
the span of -off grey of cotton
as you unzip your jeans, we extract this stopping
and lengthening of moments -
I no longer recognise your body -
even my own - like an echo
moving forwards, holding a future moving backwards
into sheets of skin – raw.
I make no apologies in this sleepless
magenta air
a bloodshed
we hold like a moon in our hands.
Page(s) 38
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