Tayfun Gülnar ,  Unt  itled  (oil and pencil on canvas)

Tayfun Gülnar, Untitled (oil and pencil on canvas)

I hear things, like, that burnout who held another
by the river, by the neck? He didn't love her.
 
He told Feck he stopped her breath to stop her talking
shit; it made him feel alive.         I've never been.
 
To seem like other girls, I wear a dress
and when Feck (that's my fella) lifts
 
me up, I dance. My bones are air; my lips designed
to whistle how a nice girl won't. The skinned
 
fish of my tongue can't feel his kiss, and that,
I think, is best. When Feck (he's crying) casts
 
my body to the river, I'm grateful for the chance
to rest and travel. Wind tickles my feet until I dance,
 
and currents lift me even higher than
I got when Feck and I first met: He held my neck
 
in both his hands and bent my nozzle with
his teeth, exhaling hard: wishes filled
 
me to the seams; I almost popped, and Feck
looked almost human then. He kissed my head

while my eyes wept (what love, what tenderness)
a sky of sinsemilla clouds across the bed.

 

Saara Myrene Raappana