Bedside Surgeon (a Grindr poem)

Yours is a precision arm

a reach which could

make spines forget legs

or left forget right

tongue forget tongue

your screen unlocked

head bowed in prayer

private and away

your face a mask of orange neon

with the expression forms a sign to ‘wait’

seconds before, we were one

language of limbs, a conjoined creature

now cut in two by your device

a bedside surgeon

and I’m still glazed by our fluids

10 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Hungry Him

He disturbs the bed super-imposing crumpled sheets like a mistake left on a page, proof of impatience with a hunger for lead or an artist’s tongue to draw a line, on hips virile brackets to exist with

A Mother Introduces the Storm

Rain comes eliminating the sky with glass shards falling down to make heads bow melting my clothes into cold outlines limits of my skin exposed forcing me to exist and witness entranced like the first

All Our Syrian Boys Are Dying

Seeing you in a thousand boxes me in a thousand beds a thousand sparks crack four thousand limbs inside a thousand bone gloss-rooms I see them bounce you off the sky from ruins built to honour it a th