SEX THERAPY
She asks me if I’m feeling
like myself. Like I know
what that means. Excavated,
I ask her how many men
must enter this body
before I may leave it.
I tell her how it isn’t
a moan but a death rattle,
& she encourages me
to be tactile, coiled
like a spring.
Tells me, Don’t be
paranoid. The shadow you feel
behind yourself is
yourself. Writing in red:
I have arrived.
ACCEPTANCE
Selecting the best
cellophane bag of semen
amongst the fantasies
of other men.
A dandelion in monochrome.
Perfumed petrichor & garlic granules.
Bury me
under a flight of stairs—
impossible resting place.
Bury me
in the jumper that smells
of paraffin wax & petroleum jelly.
I want to be away
from running water,
from the memory
of showering
with the plasters on.
A fly drowning
in the condensation.
Navigating a blind dream,
I shoved a torch
inside myself, desperate
to see
better, to hear
the scuffing of boots
in the dark.
I have always been
small & patient & kind,
but when I die I would like to be
buried. I would like to take up space.
jade rose king is a dyslexic poet from the UK. She is often told she “looks like a dog person.” Her work is published or forthcoming in 3:AM Magazine, Schlag Magazine, *82 Review, and Poetry Salzburg Review. Broken Sleep Books will publish king's first collection of poetry, Sucker Punch, in 2023.