Katrina

Apple

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Finger paint on belly:
draw your future there,
hazel eyes,
rimmed with green.

Draw the moon
we can make love under,
draw the apple ripe
on the limb.
Actualize need and temptation
in the form of careful tokens.

Wrap layers tight,
so I can’t feel the freeze
you leave about me,

so clumsy steps
against hardwood and
broken window panes
don’t conquer
like they once did.

Instead,
hold fast to my skin.

Roll up in my hair,
finger stray locks
removing the dirt of the day
with tentative strokes.

Be gentle in your word play,
patient in this mislaid speech.

My body hungers at times;
my soul, so desperate,
for the sting and slap of inconceivable future.

Hand – here.
Colors dancing from your fingertips
onto the pale flesh of belly.

“Apple” is previously published in September (2014) and one other anthology which I do not remember.

Uninvited

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Katrina Kaye

You are uninvited;
bitter against lips,
rash over skin,
sleep talk and night sweats
forbidding mindful rest.

Your voice molds over me,
a battle of syntax,
an iron cast conceived
in a stretched mind
and firmly planted feet.

Syllables wrap
thin ropes around
outstretched fingers.

The tongue,
so strong.

This pop of shoulder,
this curse word and collection
of false stories,
they are not meant for you.
I only spit them
in surprise of your presence,
eager to remain pacified
against determination.

You’re here now,
without warning.
The best kind
of unexpected guest.

I am ready for
slink and slither,
praying on revolution
like a forgotten religion,
words on pagan moon,
animal inside human covering.

Become claws and creature,
reptile and remarkable.

Come,
I’ve already let you in.

“Uninvited” is previously published in Roi Faineant Literary Press (2021) and They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).

Damaged

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Katrina Kaye

I’ve always
been a sucker
for a kicked dog,

always eager to defend
the bruised and beaten.
I am not afraid
when your true face
creeps out after dark;

I have no fear of your ghosts
and how they cling to every bone
peaking through skin.
I am not the image
your eyes reflect.

I know you do not love me.
It doesn’t matter.
I can champion your weight.
I can stitch together skin.

You are not the first
damaged man I strapped
to my back.
I have more strength
than you know.

“Damaged” is previously published in Spillwords (2022).