Few strands and then you flood my sides, you ribcage-warmer. Behind you falls a tune that I remember. Back when I was a vole I know my mother sang me this, unhibernate yourself she sang the sun is up. So don’t you know you’re singing to my hairs? My follicles recall it. You’re playing kind of tune I’d like to see me naked. I’ll meet your lazy smile, Lou, warm me with your rounded edges, yeah and pull and play those strands again – dipped litmus, I’m a dissolve, waxwarm honeymelt near perfectionBut the trouble is, Lou, it’s all over a little too quickly.
Tallulah Pomeroy comes from England and hasn’t yet published any chapbooks. She is an illustrator and an intern at Ugly Duckling Presse. You can see her drawings at www.tallulahpomeroy.tumblr.com.
Questions, compliments, (hopefully not) complaints?
Contact Jackie Clark: jackie [at] coldfrontmag [dot] com.
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