By Alan Kissane
To coil
a compliment about your neck
I’d have to get closer
than the wine on your tongue,
the whites of your twig
-like fingers. Don’t
just reject my words
because they don’t fit
into your throat. Love
can be a lozenge. Let it
soothe you, sweet music
that rattles the dust off
the shelves and the doors,
an earthquake without cinders
or destruction. I devolve
to your government.
Open the door to
the index of you
I’ve made. Take your time
to look around.
Alan Kissane works as a teacher of English in the Midlands, UK. His poetry has appeared in print and online at Allegro, Culture Matters, Dissonance Magazine, Dreich, Dust Poetry, Emerge Literary Journal, Epoch, Fahmidan, iamb, Kindling, and Neologism, amongst others. He is currently editing his first chapbook entitled ‘She Took The Children Now We Wait’.