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. 

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