lina Kay

The drawstrings of your dress
swept
down your spine,
reveal a tender back
and little hairs, fine.
A jumble of knotted vanilla ribbons,
reminds me of the hayloft,
where we rested our heads
the summer before last,
when the world owed us
and we found solace in the stars
Now,
the drawstrings of your dress
swept
down your spine
such a carnage of skin
straw milled, light
your hair all sticks and leaves
swallowed by the burden
the weight of birch stick
leaving welts behind.

J.CALVERT 2016