August

Cate Harkins is an English senior and Mustang Daily poetry contributor.

Him
Her name knotted around the inside of his mouth —
Unspeakable, indiscernible —
Through tacks and pins,
Before coming to a dead stop
In the gutter under his tongue.
She
Legs entwined in themselves
Arms flung to touch the edges of dream
Looks like a bombshell Christ
Looks like another suicide.
Him
His fingertips,
Made of malcontent brick and bone,
No more repressed, no more restrained
Make the frantic pull,
The hasty, the rash,
The absolved in dawn’s font.
She
Speechless speaks in mother tongue
Of tempest tide:
The deluge come
At last.