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Georgie Barnett

Autumn, 2022

Fresh from the sun-shine-line  hanging 

Are the drooping tongues of dead things shrouded in lace 

Slouching-up-side-down-flowers  heather  lavender 

Open in the breeze to be plucked 

Then shucked from your sticky-sweet open-legs. 

Triple-gapped for a pair of hips and slung up next to socks 

To dry  for later    For a closed-curtain yanked aside 

For a peeking  probed for rainfall  now gone 

Translucent in lieu of your white-bikini-bottoms 

And every-day you pluck a new empty-scrap 

Of mesh  ruched  broderie  bows  or your ex- 

Boyfriends-boxer-shorts  to hold it all in tight- 

Laced to scratch the itch of last night’s lusting 

And your freshly pink Brazilian-waxed-flesh, 

Circulating the colours, the days-of-the-week-ones 

Paired with towel-dried-hair and heaving- 

Breasts open to the breeze each morning for one of them 

Then another who liked the pink-ones  like 

Petunias on golden soiled-skin, burnished 

And new  fresh-from-the-line-hanging  this 

Soggy  unravelling  snapped elastic-trim holds 

Our bodies blindly   The black-ones you picked 

For fucking or the white-ones for stale-loving 

And lingering in the basket  blood-stained 

For the skip or a sea-salt-drowning or 

For the bygone bouquet in the cup-board-gone-stale 

Bunched-up  crouching like the last-lick in the jar 

Cornered  dead things tongues protruding 

And poked-presumably before his-or-her 

Finger-tips or plastic-things for shaking-hips 

Or teeth for tearing at the apex of your thighs 

Your half-hearted-sighs and your knickers –  

Like honey  trailed by bees to your hive. 

Georgie is an artist and poet interested in the female form, desire, and touch. Her passions are the written word, history, human connection and all things creative. Art has always been a part of her life and she continues the practice by drawing commissions of dogs and loved ones in her spare time.

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