Waning Moon, She Said by Red Shuttleworth

Seldom fed voice
or shabby winter coat:
imagine a ghost far-from-sudden
at the corner of touch.

"Call first before...

Flecks of brown sugar
on below-zero snow:
her popular breasts
a decade from going slack.

"I grew up on bed games."

A cloud of burned coal:
our portrait startles.
The walk onward, glove on glove,
barbed fenceline to dirt track.

"I could go with you... if you want."





You can access Red Shuttleworth's website HERE.​