by Beth Erwin

Do you know
That the promise of freedom
Touches even
(Into strawberry bubbles)
The clavicles of the
Duvet-eyed brides?
This burst
Of muggy heat, the oniony
Weed along the river
This temporal haze.
We are:
Golden with ice cream?
Swelled full of squeal?
Spasmic dancing in the ladies loo?
What a vague pledge
To the uncoiling of limbs
The mattress-dedication
Committed to dandelions and
Fat myths of languor.

Beth Erwin spends her time pretending to study music and consuming endless cups of tea.

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