swordplay

Annette O'Neil
1 min readApr 27, 2020

electrified, my skin turns to feathered

needles, each one

singing candied agonies as you pluck it.

i wait

for what i need, impatient,

open as a flower, or a book, or a laughing mouth

rising under your pitch-perfect fingers

melting like an arctic passage at your prow.

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