Dead Skin Sestina
The surface of my
skin
peels off in great swathes of land, fracturing
along the raw lines of the tectonic plates of my body
Every movement a raw
flower blooming, fragrant iron blossoms
worn as a birth
right, I am born
into soft slews of dead skin
blossoms
a baptism of blood and pus; fracture
the font with your nails until they are raw.
I decant my body
into bottles of
salt water, the full-bodied
flavor of the blood at my birth
consumed raw.
I have no skin
left. I am a fractured
and salted garden, blossoming
rot, blossom
a facsimile of a body:
just a pool of infection, another infraction
beneath nails. birth
me a new body and skin
me, living still, down to the raw
of my marrow. the
raw
of my flesh weeps serosanguinous blossoms
that crawl over skin
and across this body
splitting me into islands, I cannot bear
this fracturing:
rivulets of pus,
purulent pearls, along the fractures
that carve canyons into the raw
of my arms, legs, breast. Give me rebirth:
this is metamorphosis, an open-wound blossom
splitting the seams of my body—
I am not this skin.
I fracture
everything that blooms here
on this raw body,
this birthright body: I don’t want skin.
Hive Body
I
swallowed that sweetened queen
from your lips. Her wings
fluttered in my mouth
like laughter. Her young and hungry
body settled in the pit of my throat
Now
the cathedral vaults
of my ribs are laden
with honeycomb –
drips and gathers in the dip
of my pelvis.
There
are honeybees
in my body. I let them
use my bones as foundation.
They put my organs aside,
use the hallowed frame.
They
crawl out
my mouth, ears, nose –
Soft wings
against my lips. The pull
of their bodies
through my ear canal.
My
eyes – wide open –
are thick with honey. Sticky tears
slide slow.
They lick it from the crest
of my cheekbones.
I
am hive-body, vessel
and home, you slide the frames
from between my ribs
and lick the nectar
from the comb.
I
am kept,
tended, that tender
touch that draws honey
to my lips, press the sweetened
flesh into gold.
I am honey-bound,
dripping
with the plenty, a swarm
in the pit of my throat
escapes as a moan.
Lee Thomas (they/them) is an emerging queer non-binary poet currently located in Calgary, Alberta. Their work has also appeared in Plenitude Magazine, Room Magazine, and Filling Station. They hold a Bachelor of Arts in English from the University of Calgary.