You were having sex with me. Face down in
mattress protector. All cotton-nostril slowness
and that life force dripping out. There’s a small
speaker in the ceiling and your music is made of
tiny beads. A door opens on a world of raw flesh.
Step outside, I said. You’re fine, it’s fine here.
Everyone is at it. The sky will be very very bright
at first, but after an adjustment period your
muscles will loosen and you will walk quickly, as I
do. The animals know how to live. There is
nothing wrong, nothing. Anything wrong is an
opportunity to progress. We live in factories. I
mirror you, like the way the glass door fell and a
shard clutched into the reverse of my tights and I
pulled it out and was glad it was me it had
happened to and not any of them. It was always
me, and it always would be, that’s the thing. We
are so beautiful at the seams. Where the two
pieces join to become this larger idea.
My Brio is Unbroken by Lydia Unsworth | Poetry Reed Diffuser
Lydia Unsworth is a poet from Manchester, UK. Her collections include Arthropod, Mortar, Yield, and Certain Manoeuvres.
