We Are Quiet & The Bed is Warm.
Moon-eyed stars eye hushed sheets;
white temple tents draped over slumber.
Thoughts rise then fall forgotten;
subsumed by cottony breaths tracing skin soft paths.
Sleep’s undertow strokes quiescence between heart-seconds,
pulling sighs on open air.
Bodies shift on the shores of each other – solemn, easy –
sure of welcome; unconscious beckoning.
Stretched hours hold off morning-tide,
hold off parting,
hold off time.
Night creeps past grey streets;
unfelt,
unheeded.
_________
(When I Don’t Feel Like Loving)
Eight hands clawed into the meat;
hearts clenched between teeth.
Bonfires in bone marrow – smokeless, hungering.
Ecstasies of wild eyed supplicants in full-throated fervour;
snarling dervishes under sheets
casting hex laden breaths on lightning winds.
Spines bent under lips, dipped into night hollows,
bent to high arches above skating touches.
Mouth shaped skin bruises
pulling at flesh – peach soft juices under tongue.
Pitiless bodies – eater, offering –
twined, bloodied;
one.
Words by Taeghan Buggy
Taeghan Buggy is a writer, a poet, and a performer. Her work tends towards emotional gut punches and dangerous words. Taeghan’s immersion within ‘Arts Culture’ includes the New Wave Audio Theatre project, Flinders’ Speakeasy Creative Readings, and Adelaide’s open-mic poetry scene.
Tulpa Magazine 