Sonnet # 7

The voice in Rebecca Cox's poem saves a disintegrating lover.

Even the stalest of tobacco tastes
sweet as I hold your wounds shut. Waiting for
the blood to clot, ill with the thought of
a possible entanglement, startled

by pirouetting brass. Your winking flesh
remains unsown, parting for your eased
consumption, each chipped tooth pressed with
force against my humming tongue. Thin human

claret has filled our open palms, the
stale wool of a lamb removing your stains
from curdling floorboards. It was honey which
leaked from your pores, evaporating

into smoke. Golden lattice, I walk your
spine with my fingerprints.

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Rebecca Cox comes from a land of heavy religious doctrines and gold-embossed drug problems. The effect this has had on her writing and perspectives of the world is profound and viciously entertaining.