Poems by Foy Timms : “Prising a Hibernation from Beneath a Winter Coat” “Ceaseless” “My Night as a Scar on Your Chin” “Curtain House Wounds” “Tableau” “Folding the Night into a Black Cab”

Prising a Hibernation from beneath a Winter Coat

Icepicking his hibernation from monopolies beyond himself,
he offers his survival to the frost-encrusted park.
A survival stretching itself across frostbitten hands
into distant towns.
He shakes wardrobes of her pale history onto the jagged prescience
of trees.
in smithereens of memory.
Her pale yet furious history settles against his worn frame.

Ceaseless

The moon is stapled to the night sky.
He is lying carefully across each memory.
Salvaging a winter of tenderness
before the street shrinks.
Her face perpetually recurring.
Ceaseless.
When apparitions of touch escape thinly onto tomorrow

My Night as a Scar on your Chin

I abandon my belongings on your chest,
to climb your craggy chin-cliff,
my arms tenacious in their endeavour.
I clasp your jutting jawline,
my urchin limbs pulling upwards.

I lie unpacked on your face,
reclining and rolling over,
decadent in blistering heat,
nearing your mouth and its disasters within.

I retreat from your ruinous voice haunts,
leaving a scar as I descend.

Curtain House Wounds

At the bottom of these eyes, there is a quiet stirring
as streets wake up and mornings fall abruptly between us.
We were prising open a memory
with the blunt scissors of noon,
when our lone child leapt from these arms
across a season’s unfaithfulness,
introducing a silence heavier than bone.

Tableau

Running onto midnight’s porch
where passions scribble themselves

beyond hideouts
and nervous guests
by goading the clock,

hanging their thoughts on coat stands
and dancing on the wisdom of wounds.

Folding the Night into a Black Cab

Collapsed across a taxi’s heart,
we inhabit a burgeoning blizzard of hands.
Inside tomorrow, we forge a wilderness,
A patchwork wilderness

where cavernous brutal needs visit us indefinitely.
The damp chatter of dusk nudges our weekdays awake
but in this moment, we derive warmth from a taxi’s heart,

Invert ourselves alive,

Allow the windows to be sorrow proof for the briefest time,

When I said marry me for tonight alone.

photos by Foy Timms

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Foy Timms

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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