Friday Poetry: "Quell"

I'm sorry for being absent this week, lovelies - alas, I came down with a fever and was rather incapable of blogging much. I do hope the dragons kept good company while I was away, though; I have been working on training them, so you will perhaps observe that they singed you noticeably less often. ;) I have been mainly lounging in bed and eating ice cream and reading Superman comics and checking my temperature every half hour, but in between those productive pursuits, I did indeed manage to spin a poem out of my fingers for Friday Poetry! This is in a rather different style than those I generally write, and to be honest, I am not quite sure whether I like it all that much.

Perhaps I will leave that up to you to decide, though. Your thoughts & comments are, as always, welcomed with open arms - please do let me know your feedback in the comments section. I would so love to hear it.

A very happy (early) Lunar New Year to you all, and I do hope no one else has come down with this pesky virus! All of my love to you; I will see you next week. Enjoy. xx


It goes something like this: / she and I are in the hospital. Then we are in the car. / Then we are in the hospital / again, only now she is talking to herself and the ghosts and me and now / it sounds like a strangling. / Now that’s a metaphor I can get behind. / It goes something like this: / it’s not a metaphor anymore. / It goes something like this: / a knife and a finger / could almost pass for a quiet accident. / Let me talk to you about all of the ways she pronounces mercy. / Nobody else has given me time to explain / how her tongue licks around the syllables like a creature / on the pavement to paralysed. / It goes something like this: / a fugue. / A forged invitation. / A little girl with something in her lungs / and then she is not a little girl. / How it sounds like / take this moment and do not let it go. / How it sounds like please. / Please, darling. / How it sounds like a bite / and then a kiss swallowing its own tongue. Something in the distance screaming like the old wounds do. / Something in the distance forgotten until it isn’t forgotten / anymore. / How it sounds like / a softness. A strangling. / Please, darling. Don’t ever / let it go.