by Kirsty Logan


In the caves at the edge

of the salt-choked sea

I meet a man.


He is precarious with years

and he feeds me seaweed

seasoned with enamel chips.


When I wake at home

I cough up a palmful

of wet paint drops.



In the burrow on the bank

of the wisp-edged pond

I meet a man.


He is burnished with health

and he feeds me kisses

luscious with aftertaste.


When I stumble outside

I lap at the pond

until I reach mud.



In my bed at the edge

of the teetering world

I meet a man.


He is sleek with hearts

and I see a different name

etched onto each one.


I bite off his tongue

and swim

until my breath runs out.