What Lady Macbeth Never Said to Him

by Freya Soar

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Write your face a book,
Knit up your choppy lips,
Strip your body unseam’d,
I am lapped gainst your silver skin.
I cleave to you, your laced needle-bark
Pricks my skinny finger, and
Your hail drums my eyes
Water stuck in my throat,
Almost dead for breath.
The candles are all out, how goes the night?
You blood-howl
Your downy hands
Cling to the blanket.
I’ll suck you dry as hay, boy,
I want to hear you cry.
All is but toys and bubbles deep under
This cracked earth you sleep.
I’ve drawn you this bloody man, see,
To break on your arrow
And the sparrows
Made watchers
Skipping on the stars, you’ll pluck
The swiftest wing.
I painted the shipman’s card and you
Drain the pilot’s thumb for me,
Giving him the lie.
You’re wound up, thread pulled tight.
Blow the ports, then, pick
Which grain will grow.
Shake the bell,
Bind us further,
Thrice to mine.
A primrose for your hair –
Come! do not peep and wink
Under your hands.
Yes, boy, your chestnut root is wither’d on the kern.
I call for you not to cry but
You are brewed feverous and naked
And I have made you so.
Your heart will dwindle till I’m stopped.


released January 18, 2013



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