This is your magic: the bitten lip, half-parted door
plump architecture of the mouth
home to your tender tongue, which tastes
of champagne and St. Germaine.
We dance in
beads we found on clearance
stockings and combat boots
charms that snick and clatter, shake and rattle
protection from what we’ve conjured
while weeping over the dead and dying.
May our demons howl and tremble
blinded by cheap plastic talismans
aluminum flash and shine
while I take your hands
lead you to the pantry
pop open
the red door of your mouth.

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Ani King lives in Michigan with friends, family, and a really mouthy cat who looks like he belongs in a Miyazaki movie. Her work can be found at Rose Red Review, freeze frame fiction, and Every Day Fiction. Ani is a big fan of tacos.

3 Responses

  1. Chris Drew
    Chris Drew
    at · Reply

    Gorgeous piece!

  2. Ani
    at · Reply

    Thank you so much, Chris!

  3. Debbie Guzzi
    at · Reply

    Very evocative and sensual.

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