Lemonheart - Poem by Chloe Meakin
Acidheart, sickheart, wetheart.
Tiredheart. Knifeheart, hungryheart.
What pleasure are you? You touch me as much as the air.
You’d never know you were there.
You’re only a voice and you’re never the words.
You’ve been my Chinese whisper, my something overheard.
I seem to have swallowed you. Well you flew down my throat.
But tartheart, I’m sick with you, what pleasure are you?
You churn burning in my gut but I never digest you.
You’ve been my globus hystericus, my cancerous pancreas.
Why don’t you murder me?
Sharpheart, what pleasure are you? I want it to hurt.
I fancy the curve of the blade, but I never get stabbed.
You’re just my silent phonecall, my blank poison pen.
You’re never a threat. You’re never the chance of an actual death.
Waiting for you while you’re standing beside me.
What pleasure are you? Remoteheart,
I’ve been here for hours, growing a chemical tongue.
Nastyheart. Hateheart. Heart of slices.
Okay. Okay. That was not the thing to say.
But there’s a godawful grapefruit in my throat,
I’m throwing my wits at the walls.
I’m bloody bored. Watch me yawn. Jesusgodheart,
What pleasure is this? None at all.
I’m a sourheart now, zestheart, heart of citrus.
Nothing out here but my squeaking teeth, squeaking with tang.
Biting into the rind of my own pungent tongue.
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