Carl
Two olives knock inside a martini glass
as our table overflows with steak and shellfish.
We sign a document written in blue crayon,
agreeing to rehome and love a jack russell terrier
named Carl by the end of the month.
In place of a tip, we offer to leave clippings of our hair;
does the waitress say no?
Wine drips down our legs as we pile a doggy bag
full of bones and gristle, destined for our good boy Carl.
Dark
Dark came wandering along the sea,
along the tide,
along the wave’s crest.
Dark came within a current,
came dripped over hot cross buns,
or laced through a cup of tea.
Dark washed its hands at the kitchen sink,
hid in cupboards and crunched
uncooked pasta beneath its heels.
Dark slithered the wet hem of a trouser leg
through sand and road and carpet.
It gave itself the title Mr,
sneezed against my fingertips
and refused to hold my hand while we waited for the bus.
So This Is Love
Your hands trace my skin
like I am made out of tissue paper.
There are monsoons reflected in your eyeballs
and your breath smells like cantaloupe
as it washes over my cheek. Pleasure
burns in my sternum and unfolds
like an origami swan that is being teased flat.
It gathers in my curves and corners, paints them eggshell.
I want to map out your ears on graph paper
and plot the points that fascinate me the most.
I want to stamp your fingerprints along my frontal lobe,
even brand your name into the sole of my foot.
The hairs on my arm are an orchestra, serenading us
as legs tangle and trap one another like spiders
who have waited too long for their dinner.
Ava Patel graduated from the University of Warwick with a First in an MA in Writing. Her debut pamphlet Dusk in Bloom was published this year by Prolebooks and she runs an Instagram poetry page: @ava_poetics. She has also had some small successes being published in webzines (Runcible Spoon; London Grip; Ink, Sweat and Tears) and magazines (South Bank Poetry; Orbis; SOUTH; Dream Catcher).
