In those moments I wanted to paint you in all your strangeness / eyes a eulogy to holidays by the sea & / overgrown dayflowers / body an equilibrium of boy / man / reflecting the insecure & obstinate therein / mid-sized neat hands, feet, toned legs, golden-brown hair / and the mole on the back of your neck I / thought was a zit the first time /

Every one wants a two / inexplicably and as a child there was nothing that didn't scare me / I didn't, still don’t, know living with my heart in my throat / most of the things I wanted to say / got lost in winter’s winnowing / and in the white noise you’d make / driving, foreplay, virginity, what I want & so I can shag someone else we were / chill /

The rainclouds were blushing on the day I knew it was over / waking up missing your taste / your feel / your aftershave always hung around on me like lingerie / and you said I’d always remember you past / tense in the present / people in general are easy to love so / that commitment to impermanence made me mad / you weren’t unspecial /

What could have been smells like licorice / it'll be a while before I find someone who smells as good to me as you did / I’d think / brain on dopamine on serotonin and your fingers – lips / you didn't like anything about me / that much / I could have stayed resting in your clavicle / forever shrunk down / thumb sized /

I hated how much your touch / made me / love myself and how little it mattered to you / I would have been your doll / existing hollow / sometimes I'd think about what it would be like to love you / & all my scenarios ended in disaster / even now I keep staying / up past midnight believing if / I enforce my will on life enough the things I want will happen /

Your body fit me like bodycon dress / beard a natural exfoliant, foreheads matching in size / in my Tinder bio I wrote / ewww feelings and so / you always felt fine ignoring mine / I don’t think you had to be told / talk is cheap / you used it as your weapon / saying everything and meaning nothing / what the fuck.



I wring out time in the day
a juice
ripe for the licking
its umber irid globs
are watered down magma, they
                    dance
                    around
the outstretched tongue
a greed jutting
from an osseous frame with flesh-blood for decoration
                    papillae get avoided and are left
                    to grow dry and purple in the air salt
for want of the burst
for want of droplets relieving
for want of
more
time for accomplishment, joy, climax
I'm anticipating the chain-reaction of anything
                    that could certify a life


Amy Moretsele is a daydreamer who writes for that sensation of easy-breathing following word vomit. Her work has appeared in Fly on the Wall Press, Dust Poetry Magazine and Re-Side Zine. @AmyMoretsele