Sandrine Letellier


I wish I could visit you all
in your shoeboxes.

Half through the earth,
rooftops hurling from the sky.

We could peel clementines
and crack our knuckles,

let lightbulbs thrum
at the back of our throats.

The light would go out
but our soft aches fracture

into smog.

See how I hear music
but never the mirth of my bones.


Green satin sheets
something about
slipping into a saturated forest
at dusk
in our aquamarine flesh
tunnels.
Something about
my red mouth
isn’t it always
a wolfish sheep in disguise.
Something about
a raven with a saxophone
stuck in my teeth.
A line you never answer
but you are here in my hair
A nest / a murder scene
of my own volition.
I want you don’t I always
want you
don’t I always
want something.