Two poems by Devon Judd
I once breathed an ancient breath
It is the inhale passing through
Clenched teeth
That will make me wail at my knees
Retreating, to the terrifying angel
Beating above me
And choking me with my collar
Until there is no collar
And there is no angel
And the muscle is falling from me
it is an inhale passing not through
Clenched teeth, but
Straight into itself
The door is open
The sea rains down on itself
Nights I write my romance
Your hair in my lap
To be toiled by my working fingers
My old working hands spread even
Against your scalp and I wonder
Whether you feel how cold my hands are this evening
I pull your head back to lick
Your eyelids and
Look my loving into the backs of your eyes
Your hair through my fingers
Smells so different to mine
We are almost the same
(our mouths taste the same this late in the day)
But we are different
Enough
To love one another
You take my hands in yours and I
Am terrified that I am only the cold air to your wet eyes
But I believe you
And begin to learn my new body
My hands no longer the termination, the extension
Of me
My hands now the midpoint, the chest, hips, heart
Of me
I kiss your arms and I kiss my arms
I run my fingers across both
Our skin together
And dizzy myself in the fever of
Two overlapping bodies
Devon Judd is a Wellington based student, arborist, and environmentalist