Whisper grey smudges onto me and make me dusty
Dusty like the evening spirals on her mother’s T.V-lit carpet.
Tassels, toussles, a soft hurricane
Bruises left and replaced with denim.
I Prefer to Be Cold
Bought and Sold
Turned blue-green mould
Dripping wet and soon to be told
A holly leaf turned 18 years old
Staring hungrily, only to fold
I prefer to be cold
With the blue lights, thrown, by colossal sirens
Turning my blood blue.
Brushing the concrete of this swamp,