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The Serpent

by Ivana Marija Devcic

Kisses like buds on your neck,

flowering amongst pheromones

and dying beneath crushed grips.

Your teeth clutching like shiny pearls

– a ray of moonlight glistens on my lips –

for purchase, they move down, hungry;

a wolf grin materialises to

draw blood from a bite

that transforms,

you howl my name like

a curse from the depths,

and with shadow-eyed relish

I lick the sanguine in your mouth,

pushing you down into my abyss.

Catch me on the saline wave

as I ride up, down, up, down,

climbing on the crest of white foam,

I surge downward,

seeking oblivion at the highest height,

I find it in the part of yourself

that you gift to me,

then I tumble, shuddering,

on the heels of our shared fall.

Swollen, raw, plundered,

halves connected like the moon,

I want to forget myself

entwined with you like

the trail of a comet

in the constellations.

Hollow me out,

pull the stubborn pieces of myself

from within my ribs,

from the cage that I hide in.

Place them gently in the eggshell,

and lay with me inside,

so that we may spend eternity

in our own cosmos.

Ivana is usually cleaning that annoying smudge on her glasses. Regularly having existential crises (if they are consistent, can they be called crises?). Typically found with a book in front of her face – a standard sign of an INTJ in their natural habitat. If lost, look near the cats or salted crisps.



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