Wordspill

By | 1 May 2017
F-sharp in my mouth

bright and shaped to


laughter as I stretch


lazysweet

and safer in my skin


now I know you


(you know, you—


—touch, if you want. 

I am vain when I know

you look at me.)


I tell myself: save

your words and wait.


Wait to slip them

between kisses so

I can feel your breath

catch between us.

But they fall as I do


brimful and heavy


unkept and sung as

my own breath tangles


on how lovely you are.

Your voice like touch

that leaves me open

full-thick with hope


sunshine waterspill.
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Kit Kavanagh-Ryan is a queer crip poet and academic based in Melbourne, whose recent publications include works for Australian Literary Studies, Australian Poetry Journal and spoken word for David Bridie's It's been a while since our last correspondence. When not falling over, she thinks and writes about the weird and lovely ways bodies and minds work together while completing graduate studies at Deakin university. While falling over, she's still doing that, just slower.

More by Kit Kavanagh-Ryan on Cordite Poetry Review →

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