Two poems

[St. Marks Place, Brooklyn, New York]

Because against a wall,
a spine.
Because in a tilting chair,
bodies.
Because a locked door,
dawn.

The walls of my bedroom at sixteen were
hunter green with
no overhead light.

And ten years later I am doing just that,
hunting.

Because back lit shoulders,
Because a street light though a window,
Because your illuminated future,
Because right next to a desk lamp,

hunting.

---

[Los Angeles, California]

You once said to me, that I'm the kind of person
who sticks around in someone's throat. I thought
you meant like how you can still taste coffee
hours after you drink it or how it feels watching
a new horse stand for the first time.

I wanted to know why you always swallowed
before looking me in the eye. There's a type of
deep breath a person takes before they are
able to stare at the ocean, and I can feel your
chest swell on the nights you come over from
the beach and I find sand for days.

You meant like in the way the sun, heavy weight,
is an undoing burn. I get stuck in your throat and
you drink sea water looking for the moan I make
when you come up behind me in the kitchen as
I roll out dough for pastelitos and your mouth
finds my neck.

Illustration by Bael

Bael is an artist from the North East of the UK, whose work translates an often haunting, yet beautiful visualisation of the human form. After solo shows and group exhibitions across the UK and Europe, his work has found its own place and has a dedicated, international following. @bael_art