She pealed the flesh
from her poems
until all that was left
was the sapphire night
of revelation.
The bones of her desires
burnt on tongues silly enough
to speak words pillaged
from every mistake
she claimed as freedom.
In her chorus of hims
she broke broad chests
into ribs too weak to carry
the boldness of a woman
who listed demands before
she melted into a fever.
Her poetry didn’t bleed submission
or spills sighs collected from inadequate.
It was raw claw marks through pink words
that looked pretty framed, but couldn’t
stand up to feral ink.
©Susie Clevenger 2017
Word list I used:
desires
night
flesh
poems
