Art: Ekaterina Shamilova (Model: Marie Dashkova)
THE CRUSHING OF COTTON BUTTERFLIES
The bed smells of potted meat – and us –
last night’s bland feast. You’re eyeing the jar
even now, scrolling news-feed on your laptop,
hard edge digging into my thigh.
Maggots, you say –
I’m thinking of butterflies
printed on the duvet, crumpled in parts.
My dreams have been restless, strange
they give way to this daily sweat of lethargy,
stench rising from cleavage, over-ripe, thickened
skin-folds of summer long-extended and morning-breath
interaction too familiar between ignored alarms,
cold water music when I am stuck under
a slow-drip, lukewarm tap –
when I am an insect
on my back, waiting to turn
and for you to roll the other way
cover taut between us,
butterflies uncrushed.
About the author:
Carol Stewart is a mother and grandmother living in the Scottish Borders. A former freelance editor, she has recently ventured into the world of poetry and her first accepted work was published in 404 Ink.
Art: Ekaterina Shamilova (Model: Marie Dashkova)