Lydia Hounat The minute it was over - 23rd march 2016 He climbed into me Like i was a hole in his t-shirt Or something like that He put himself inside me I felt tighter than a pinhole I hummed miss independent in my head Holding him tight to my carcass He cut me like a grapefruit My gums were sour It felt like winter settled between my legs It felt like snow glued to his very tips I was a kind of failure
British-Algerian poet from Manchester, England. She has been published with Cuckoo Quarterly, The Missing Slate, The Cadaverine, the poetry journal Brain of Forgetting, as well as other publications.
He said he’d smother me in his semen The condom didn’t pop If it had it would’ve been better Something would be different But he stalled the engine again Then broke himself Me, a great chew toy Being marred by his teeth My flesh burned into the mattress Still wet he slipped himself out My eyes rolled across the duvet He said sorry again Then put another couple oceans between us.
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