POETRY

2026: The Ds

Free prose

Photo by Raphael Renter | @raphi_rawr on Unsplash

Stiffened by iced brittle air I slump pallid, stunned by the sharp darts of winter. I long, As grey creeps beneath where your gold used to linger, For your warmth whilst still bruised by the blunt wounds of Fall.

I’ve yearned your return, my demand, your supply, And now I am ready laid prone at your feet. So how to resist your warm breath on my shirt cuffs, As you feed my dire need at the elbow unfurled.

Graze gasping pores and my hunted grey veins, I’ve chased you for months; you’ve been so elusive. I’ve sought the hot fix of your touch and the feeling, In the realm of your senses, I succumb to your heat.

Release your hot rush and drip gold from your needles. Infuse my eyelids with warm starbursts of amber. Whet my blissed lips with sweet cherry bomb kisses. Pierce my dry pores with blissed hits from dark cities.

Bring on the haze, stroke my cheeks, and lick fingers Of time, and of place, to the tilt where you linger. Thoughts drift like swollen corpuscles; they’re lasered On pink lids, and on my fair arms, they are soldered.

There’s no hiding the marks, the telltales of your poison, But knowing the price as you fade, I am torn. While the Ds do their work, you will get no resistance, Enslaved as I am to your corrosive seduction.