The feminine urge to splatter and make a scene

hopped up on attention economy – don’t just listen: validate

with head of train

on the tracks we idle upon

the masculine urge to bleed on the party

hot with bile curled up at the back of the throat

like a viper

with big fangs and a kaleidoscopic swirlie

our gifts are garish:

a drowsy bunch of beheaded flower crowns

married to twigs with hubba bubba

for you know these hands were made for crushing

and your hands were made for punishing

and our love is lecherous:

we name our nosebleeds after each other

we make birthdays short and halloween long

and our touch has a temper – we best not disrupt:

the feminine urge to settle down and make a family

drunk on communion – don’t just watch: consolidate

with your big heart darling

underneath the telephone lines perfecting

the masculine urge to make life whole again

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Casper Kelly is a writer in the United Kingdom. He has been published in Petrichor, Dadakuku, Expat Press, among others. He only comes out at night.