Poetry by Lorelei Bacht

              Øyvind Holmstad CC



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To kiss, kiss him.

Smell of the jackfruit, colour 
of the sun: you are going to be 
alright. What you need is a bird to fly,
 
and a fish to follow. Knee-deep
in the hollow, the world revealed 
its alignments, at the moment 
 
when you thought it would not. Ring of 
fire, red gushes of rainbows – whose 
head is that in the toilet, thinking:
 
this is not a human? Thinking:
this has to be the end? Behold: 
the upturn and rebound. The song 
 
of sunlight, the yellow knife cutting
through your waters of dark. Dark 
was a bad idea – there'll be plenty
 
of time for that when the bucket 
is kicked. Meanwhile, darling, it's time 
to kiss, kiss him.




Lorelei Bacht is a bookworm and poet living in Asia. She enjoys climbing trees and observing orb weavers. When she is not drawing sad little sketches, she writes - too much. Her work has appeared / is forthcoming in Visitant, The Wondrous Real, Fahmidan, Abridged Magazine, Odd Magazine, Postscript, PROEM, SWWIM, Strukturriss, Hecate, and others. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and on Twitter: @bachtlorelei
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