I could probably fool anyone if I tried. I am small and I am lithe. I do not look my age or act it - I am an old soul with windowless eyes and I try and I try and I try - to be everything and nothing, to be extraordinary and just me - … Continue reading The fool
My heart flutters in bruised magentas as time melts through our skin and solidifies in our bones; heavy. Like amber hardening thick around the filigree wings of an insect, one thousand years old. We wish to crumble, to fall into dust, leave on the wind with a sudden lightness; the disappearance of time … Continue reading Heavy
Magnolia walls, all four and counting, breathe with us now, they know us now, so much so our skin begins to match: a canvas on which you compare me to every fruit the supermarket did not have, every flower you haven’t seen, every sunset discoloured by the evening news. Just magnolia is left, off white … Continue reading Magnolia
The second time I kissed you was the first time we fell in love: a siren song without beeswax in our ears, helplessly stumbling across shingle for the shore, for the waves, seeking the sweet vibrations between our lips, succumbing to the fall as we tumble beneath sea level, deep into midnight. Poem: © … Continue reading A siren song
He speaks love like it’s witchcraft: blue smoke curling from the cauldron at his lips, kissable and lacquered with gloss. He speaks love and I tumble like cloth at his feet: spellbound, always, indebted to the softness of his touch, his words and his mind. He speaks love and I’m his. … Continue reading Witchcraft
I know we were young and these thoughts are just melodramatic coins thrown into a bottomless well, but I must ask, the vacuum between us now, if I was ever more than leftovers to you? If I can ever see myself as more than the girl you called by mistake. The girl who watched you … Continue reading Leftovers
What if butterflies are quiet warnings for all to come: the bite marks and scratches, as the red flags gnaw your skin from the inside out never sinking their teeth in deep enough for you to listen. Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020 Between the Trees UK Between the Trees US Signed copies on Etsy
My first thoughts of Spring came on a Sunday when the heavy storm clouds were broken by a blue I hadn't seen in days. A blue which could relinquish the sun's grasp and continue to shine. It was then I saw the knots of green, eager to bloom on the elder tree even though the … Continue reading My first
our last bullet held in the chamber of the revolver we hold between us, straddling dining chairs facing one another: you spin the mechanism into place, readying the roulette, one last bullet - is it for you or for me? the stars, the skies and the seas in between. Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020 … Continue reading Our last
The year is 1918 and women sit by their abandoned hearths waiting for their boys to return in a parade of banners and splendour: red white and blue but in the flames they cannot help but see sorrow in swirls of grey; ashen faces accustomed to the smell and taste of death boys who became … Continue reading Abandoned hearths
