Øyvind Holmstad CC
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
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.