she has no english;
her lips round / in a moan ....
calligraphy of veins ....
— MERLINDA BOBIS, ‘First Night’
My syntax, tightly-wrought —
I struggle to let go,
to let go of its formality,
of my wishbone
desiring juice — its deep marrow,
muscle, and skin.
The sentence finally pronounced —
I am greedy for long drawn-
out vowels, for consonants that
desire lust, tissue, grey-cells.
I am hungry for love,
for pleasure, for flight,
for a story essaying endlessly — words.
A comma decides to pr[e]oposition
a full-stop ... ellipses pause, to reflect —
a phrase decides not to reveal
her thoughts after all — ellipses and
semi-colons are strange bed-fellows.
Calligraphy of veins and words
require ink, the ink of breath,
of blood — corpuscles speeding
faster than the loop of serifs ...
the unresolved story of our lives
in a fast train without terminals.
I long only for italicised ellipses ...
my english is the other, the other
is really english — she has no english;
her lips round / in a moan —
oval, rich, nuanced, grammar-
drenched, etched letters of glass.