"Without Breaking a Few" by Lorelei Bacht



When we first spoke, the colour

dripped from our mouths, a rich orange -

it did not need a protection.


Elements. We were our own, weaving

the space around us into happening.


How I longed for my face to melt

into the yellows of your face

and make new gods.


Nothing could penetrate our deeps,

our liquids: we seemed to seep

our substance into everything, and colour it.


So, I misplaced a skeleton, forgot a scute.


We stayed naked,

disbelieving of defenses, thinking

ourselves invulnerable.


By the time I sensed a trickle -

it was too late.


Or was it? Is it not true that a fracture

is how the light gets in? If so,

come here:


let us repair our whites with gold.




Lorelei Bacht (she/they) lives and writes in Asia. Her recent work has appeared and/or is forthcoming in Visitant, Abridged, SWWIM, Odd Magazine, PROEM, Harpy Hybrid Review, and others. She can be found on Instagram @the.cheated.wife.writes and @lorelei.bacht.writer, and on Twitter @bacht.lorelei

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