Pulse: An Assortment By An Lin Hunt-Babcock
You wish to fall as slowly as a snowflake when you collapse into the cold like sinking a body into a lover that moment bone meets flesh You hum a tune unfamiliar enough to travel between the gaps in your teeth, to slice your throat
*
The bathtub is quiet without another to sink into and lay down all your sorrows lavished in bubbles and warm water, you don’t want to prune it’s snowing outside and you’re naked in a bowl that’s full of fog you could get lost in and Never grow old
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Drinking from a juice box is a ritual made by/for your missed childhood first: stab with sword second: extract juice third: crush box in fist last: stomp on until unrecognizable
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Saline solution washes you away coming down in drops as small as your fingertips tasting like fish, it serenades you, slippery and plunging fast veiling your face, a sickly, sticky promise made between you and pain.
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