Poetry by Dean Rhetoric

Melanic Swarth Form
          
She wears me
 all itchy bones
 to sleep tonight
 
shapes of syllables
  slide tightly inside
       soft parliaments
      of milked vowels
 
         starves the moon
           until its crescent
             bursts the night
                  i.v. bag spills
             double black silk
 
                     over staircases
                          over fingers
                         sinew, salting
                 spines, licked clean
 
                         my trachea, such
                     a pretty little bastard
                            between her teeth
 
                                    opiates, rained,
                                  my insecure ways
                                   lost like sentences
                                           in the burning
                                  libraries of her mind.

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Dean Rhetoric (barely) exists in East London and has poetry in SeaFoam, Picaroon, Occulum, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ghostland and others. He says things on twitter @dean_rhetoric and nine times out of ten will be the scary thing under your bed. Please read him with a generous amount of apathy.