• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 12
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We're walking the gap
between the double nubbed hills
near your parents house

You carry a rucksack of artefacts:
a ring split in half
a twisted curl of his red hair
two dried daisies ready for peeling

I carry a small tiger in my ribcage
who I hush into closing its jaws
(and, eventually, into submission)

The sky breaks into blue
I take a bite from the firm orange of the sun
Your mouth swings open
I hang from the hinges

We remove each others tongues with pincer fingers
Mine weighs the same as a chaffinch wing
Yours the cavern of a full eagle heart

At the clearing we rinse our skin
with deciduous leaves
let the magnets in our four feet
lead in a fresh direction