Burnt
What is this?
I fall into the black holes of its eyes, her eyes
Hollow and infinite.
It spits, it snaps, it antagonises
Unpredictable and encompassing.
Her red lips tease
I’m ravishing, I relinquish
It is delicious,
My whiskers burnt.
Kat Jones
I fall into the black holes of its eyes, her eyes
Hollow and infinite.
It spits, it snaps, it antagonises
Unpredictable and encompassing.
Her red lips tease
I’m ravishing, I relinquish
It is delicious,
My whiskers burnt.
Kat Jones
The Porcelain Child
The porcelain child has flickering eyes that are wicked and wild and make you uneasy.
The porcelain child is exciting and inviting and tantalisingly perishing.
The porcelain child is fearless and untouchable and destructive.
The porcelain child is unprotected but devoid of sentiment.
The porcelain child is breakable when not handled with care.
The porcelain child drains away all goodness.
The porcelain child oozes with the luxuries of Cleopatra’s milk; organic, dynamic, orgasmic and ecstasy.
The porcelain child is heavy and empty.
The porcelain child can make you lie and smile at the same time.
The porcelain child whispers upon your skin and nips playfully at your neck.
The porcelain child gets wet with water, tears and rain when lucky.
The porcelain child is not a ready-made or for everyday; the porcelain child is not for and does not take any crap and is not upside down.
The porcelain child is unwritten.
The porcelain child is honest about what is on offer.
The porcelain child fantasises about the sea and its incessant glory.
The porcelain child is constantly arrested.
The porcelain child is constantly exploited.
The porcelain child initiates all violations, gorging on them, devouring all that is present and then picks at their carcasses irreverently.
The porcelain child does not need anyone but craves human touch to fill those empty concaves.
The porcelain child always belongs but will always be longing.
The porcelain child is exciting and inviting and tantalisingly perishing.
The porcelain child is fearless and untouchable and destructive.
The porcelain child is unprotected but devoid of sentiment.
The porcelain child is breakable when not handled with care.
The porcelain child drains away all goodness.
The porcelain child oozes with the luxuries of Cleopatra’s milk; organic, dynamic, orgasmic and ecstasy.
The porcelain child is heavy and empty.
The porcelain child can make you lie and smile at the same time.
The porcelain child whispers upon your skin and nips playfully at your neck.
The porcelain child gets wet with water, tears and rain when lucky.
The porcelain child is not a ready-made or for everyday; the porcelain child is not for and does not take any crap and is not upside down.
The porcelain child is unwritten.
The porcelain child is honest about what is on offer.
The porcelain child fantasises about the sea and its incessant glory.
The porcelain child is constantly arrested.
The porcelain child is constantly exploited.
The porcelain child initiates all violations, gorging on them, devouring all that is present and then picks at their carcasses irreverently.
The porcelain child does not need anyone but craves human touch to fill those empty concaves.
The porcelain child always belongs but will always be longing.
Anticipation
Warm, wet and waiting,
He curled himself close.
Turning and swirling, and nestling
In the heat if his world;
Safe and knowing
But always waiting.
A hair line crack,
The safety shattered,
He is exposed to a shocking coldness;
Fresh and exasperating.
The air is turning and swirling
In his lungs, enchanting; enabling.
Surviving in the outside
In the heat of his mother’s arms.
He curls himself close.
He curled himself close.
Turning and swirling, and nestling
In the heat if his world;
Safe and knowing
But always waiting.
A hair line crack,
The safety shattered,
He is exposed to a shocking coldness;
Fresh and exasperating.
The air is turning and swirling
In his lungs, enchanting; enabling.
Surviving in the outside
In the heat of his mother’s arms.
He curls himself close.