Copyright 2013 Lizzy Huitson
Cover design by MotherSpider.com
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He bottled autumn leaves –
small ones, rounded, red as berries.
Berries too, plump with poison
and the scarlet parts of Peacock butterfly wings.
He kept the smell of blood inside a jam jar
and the sickly tang of strawberry jam
smeared on a napkin like a drunken kiss.
A stolen garnet brooch, a borrowed lipstick, a wax apple, glacé cherries, dead ladybirds, robin feathers, ragged silk roses.
He stacked them to the ceiling,
fingers tapping to the memory
of cells pulsing together –
a mindless muscle,
a roomful of sleepers, twitching with a collective dream,
a shared impulse.