breath [brɛθ]
- the uncensored echo flying back into body
- reminder to the bottom
- to come open
- each storm in the sheets / is cotton musk of boxers / is two fingers of slick / is cloud curtaining nape / is ridges of spine / is tautness crumpling into tissue
- becomes battlefield
- when he pumps bullets of helium into rubber
- a sentence of salt when he leaves & does not look back
- the word of a lost language : the answer before question
what was built
my tongue on your torso
is not a bridge
a bridge is a bridge
when there is water
in search of
canyon crossing paths
beaten off
into dust
no happy trails
in this desert
spring’s dried-up morning
wood needs more spit
the river has been stripped
to its ankles since last year
cement
once set does not budge
the railings far from my fingers
stranded in sunset i lick my asphalt
kneecaps & stand
i wade into
you a spilling
of sand
Bio:
Full-time broke person with expensive tastes, Andy Winter is a gay, non-binary poet from Singapore. They can often be found feeding stray cats or cleansing their tarot deck under the full moon. They have been published in Cordite Poetry Review, Corvid Queen and Cartridge Lit.
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