Walking on Coals

Fucking you is like walking on coals;
I move forward, feet tender,
And I, tenacious,
Your hand inside of me,
A slap to my chest and I open.

My heart is in a cave,
The cave deep and dark,
My heart a red pounding spot,
Revealed, as you come crashing through.

I open my mouth, my cunt, my palm,
And the past roars out,
Dying lovers, last fucks, and tears,
Shine from my body,

There is too much for me,
These stories are a light,
They blind me and I flinch away,
I turn my head, my heart, my hand,
They illuminate you and the now and past.

A slap to my chest,
And I am cleansed,
Of the cloud of grief that lives in the red spot of my heart.
Placing each foot flat on these coals,
We fuck.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Walking on Coals

  1. Ray Sharp says:

    you are a very good poet! Intense imagery!


  2. Birdielou says:

    Thank you. And thank you for commenting. I’m really glad you like it. Writing is such a solitary act of creation, and I often cannot judge the results.


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