CLAW, Robert Beveridge

by Robert Beveridge

your nails run
over the skin of your wrist
saw back and forth
and you ask me
why it doesn't hurt
“it's supposed to hurt”

I want to take your hand
in mine or take you in my
arms or even help you
hurt just to hear the liquid
russet of satisfaction
in your voice

I would lie awake all night
and watch you sleep
banish bad dreams with a kiss
and tears with my fingers

but I do nothing of the sort
I just look into your eyes
pink from hours of tears
and wish
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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