by K.Blair

the woman sat at the table is not my wife / I run the tip of my thumb over my left ring finger
trace the woven silver band / and do not remember putting it on
the woman who is not my wife has laid out a feast
poisonous flowers, fruits and bone / she guides me to the table
aren’t you tired after work? / sit, rest a while, drink this cherry cordial
mouth fills with liquid / thick and sweet
the woman who is not my wife is beautiful / curling hair full of vulture feathers
her skin is warm / freshly baked tea cake out of the oven warm
hands calloused but glass shattering gentle / she tips my chin up for a kiss and I feel claimed
fangs nip my lip / drawing blood which she laps at greedily
soothing the sting / I let the woman who is not my wife feed me
pupil-less eyes, gold and brown / watching my throat as I swallow
phantom bruises bloom / on my chest and thighs
did she put them there? / did I let her?
the woman who is not my wife takes me to bed / lays me down on white satin sheets
tells me I look better against crimson / we’ll have to redecorate
she sings me to sleep / mimicking birdsong and falling rain
the woman who is not my wife / who is my wife / who has always been my wife 
holds me within her embrace of thorn and birch / as I drift into the quiet of sleep
safe and cherished / down in the dark

K.Blair | @WhattheBlair 
K.Blair is a bisexual poet, currently based in London. A Proud member of London Queer Writers, she helps to run a monthly LGBT poetry night in Dalston Junction called SPEAK =. She has been published in the XX Poetry Anthology, Spoken Word London’s Anti-Hate Anthology and The Valley Press Anthology of Prose Poetry. You can find more of her work @kblairpoetry on tumblr. 

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