You Open Your Mouth

You Open Your Mouth



You open your mouth and

I am gone again like

before I could walk, like

before I had anything but you

and this connection, gripped

in a violent spin, intimacy purging gravity

by free will alone, blood for food and food

tossed on a gravestone, seeding a graveyard,

lording triumphant over reality, more potent than

waiting for the streetcar in a cold sub-zero winter,

waiting with wet boots and uncombed-through hair,

like fruit that never spoils

or gets polluted with scented-hand touch.


You say destruction

and I am beating the light,

slashing the torpedo into

smaller precise devises of doom.

You say reconciliation

and I am beside you, planting

my vengeance like dead peeled skin,

like waking and walking

to the bathroom, leaving the dream behind.


You open your mouth and

you open a door to a feast

outstripped of butchery and good cheer,

outshining all but the lover’s volatile love pitching,

emerging, continuing, clear,



Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Dissonance Magazine” October 2020



Published in “BlogNostics” October 2020

You Open Your Mouth by Allison Grayhurst



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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