bedfellows magazine
  • HOME
  • ISSUE 12
  • SUBMISSIONS
    • Submission Form
  • ABOUT
  • LITTLE BLACK BOOK
    • A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS
  • SHOP
Picture

Picture
Picture
Picture
fantasy suites / a drama
​I. honeymoon suite:   
​          
(here is something real:  i found you suddenly                   
while i was mid-trapeze.)



                                    stars      so fake cluster    in the round bed           
                                    they crust          the velvet                     
                                    of our happy trails          rubbed uncovered         
                                    each of us a heart
                                    tub       something biological       made candy
                                    made sweet        blood & valve & vinyl
                                    red or pink        to contain         
                                    the melt             of us
 
II. cave room: 
 
(i don’t remember if i left the candles lit. 
it seems that we could lose so much
to flames.)
 
                                    ooze      &         stalactites           gag pleasantly
                                    crystals waft       scentless            in the wading pool
                                    blister the edges             of the quarter-bed         
                                    we haven’t had sex 
                                    the way             that we used to              
                                    for three months            & our tongues
                                    dew      water becoming              un-still
                                    against the shower rocks  
 
                       
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
III. jungle room: 
 
(i tell the truth in spite of myself. we are trying 
harder to be happy. we are trying.)
 
                                    elephants sing from leaf speakers            
                                    static & you ask
                                    if i’ve said something      when i haven’t   
                                    vines plastic       through my       
                                    bloodstream       nerve endings &
                                    no real stars for gazing                 
                                    just the dream                of a star            
                                    made painted     a rainstorm 
                                    precipitated        from mouth-noise        
                                    & the aloneness              of the room 




IV. space room: 
 
(the whole sky opens up, they say, & we pour 
our limbs one-by-one back into 
time like a centerpiece of aspic.)
 
                                    more of a sound             than a place                  
                                    lasers cinema     from our emergency 
                                    blankets             silver & purple neons      stuck 
                                    between your teeth        
                                    you ask              me to pry 
                                    them from your mouth              
                                    little fish sold in tens
                                    but when i try    i can only 
                                    find the dark      & then  i become lost in it
                                    the world of you alien even          to me 

BACK TO LITTLE BLACK BOOK
Proudly powered by Weebly
  • HOME
  • ISSUE 12
  • SUBMISSIONS
    • Submission Form
  • ABOUT
  • LITTLE BLACK BOOK
    • A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS
  • SHOP