Tom Vaux is a writer and poet based in London.
THEY TAKE TURNS
It isn’t spit it’s breath
sets off the mouth cloth not waving but to burr
and thrum in the choking season, in the blue on blue
whooped insistence, this implied ‘herewith’
and sibilate formality of fumes and Behemoth
needing you and she to cease this kind of being here
please. Though you wheeze and whatever they’d prefer
she’s here for the tilth.
Throw what she holds and share what is beneath her eyes,
its spit and breath. Why be afraid of wetlands
or unget desire for sighs and inspiration secondhand?
‘Fasten it like a bow.’ Suck it in and blow
it out. What it is is no disguise.
This made itself a folding face for two.