––––––––and you making it okay
to have a body. tomorrow
––––––i may redden
we hadn’t realised. i may yellow old and slow
the place where mountains hide
––––and sleep for ages. there
i may cradle the moon
––––––in fragile fingers or crush
down my throat
–––––––––tastes like the dead skin chewed
–––––––fingernails. what tender satellite fruit
could be like this?
–––eating the moon
––––––––––––––––does not make it okay
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––to have a body.
i have purpled my
––––––––wrists and greyed
––––my hair and
–––––––––––––snuck myself into the curves
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––of your arms
and still it is not okay
–––––to have a body.
Tori Aitken is a queer poet and intense cloud enthusiast living somewhere in the electrics of your home. they are the author of the writing anthology ‘paper birds’, have been published on electric cereal, and can usually be found lurking on twitter @queercloud.
Photo: Amanda Kennedy