Yes sir Charlotte Kidd

Charlotte Kidd

he sits on the scaffold running his rough paint brush up the frame, mummifying a collection of cat hairs and looking at me.

it was early and I was yet to tell him our safe word was sparrow but I could not speak

so I wrote it on a post-it and stuck it to the pane to this, he mouthed a word which looked like freedom

with my face in the sun i danced for him he opened the window he climbed through.

he asked me to boil the kettle, and leaned back and burnt his flesh on the steam.

his red soft wound pulsed and whispered not to look but my eyes were greedy