Literary Diaries

Drench

by DANNY KEIGHTLEY

I lose my breath in your cinnamon
falls, that straggle the arc
of your spine, like an opaque
river. I let my fingertips waltz
your stomach’s inhales – palms
against your crested river bed
with the panted ebb of cassia
hair, rolling against my chest.

My silhouette lips traverse navel
to rib, letting the web of my kisses
dampen the scar that sprawls
from blade to breast, as you hiss
against touch of it, as if, I trespassed
my tongue against line drawn in sand.

Wheeze

by DANNY KEIGHTLEY

You draw smoke
from my exhales,
suck nicotine
from my filtered lips,
planting ash-dry
kisses on my yellow
skin. Our pale, matchstick
fingers lock, as you roll
your eyes shut from the stub
flickering out
into an empty coke can.

Qwertyuiop

by DANNY KEIGHTLEY

You crumbled into letters
and awkward spaces
unneeded semi colons;
my hand on your cheek
your waist, your lipstick-less lips became
words
note the particular emphasis I have
placed upon that solitary noun
note how it encompasses everything
or nothing depending on
whether or not you read this;
see it as a lament, or a violent
semi-chapter, or bookend.

Indifference tells me that I do not love you
was what I was intending on being my
first line
but I’ve rearranged us,
and now that I have your attention
note how clumsy you’ve formed upon this
page — perhaps this is a metaphor or
representational of our relationship.
You tell me.
You wrote this.

You’ve plenty more to say.

Swanning

by DANNY KEIGHTLEY

We could rest our heads together
among crisp packets and cigarette ash;
nestle together on a cold bus
shelter bench. Until the hustle of feet
forced us on, we could crowd in front
of shop shutters; til the sea shooed us
from jagged rocks, we could
sleep on a shore of broken bottles –
stand the night until tomorrow.

Safe as houses on cinder;
vagabonds beyond their windows.