Yours - Dadon Rowell

I am your china doll.
Chip me while you play.
Snap my index fingers
So they can’t point at you.

I am your blood bag, your donor.
There are red pictures each morning
On the bathroom mirror.
Paint it on your face
Lick your fingers.

I am your ashtray.
Force smoke into my lungs
Thirty compressions
Two breaths
Until my tear ducts 
cough ash.

I am your rib.
Embedded in you 
Red and blue ropes 
Mummify my body
And compress my lips.

But I was made
To be your canvas, 
Your grotesque 
To nod my head like a child’s toy
And taste the metal 
Of another woman’s perfume.

Touch Me - Dadon Rowell

It’s been a while
I say
as your fingers
slide up my spine
my skin giggles
under your hands

You scrape your teeth
along my neck
I hum and twist
tilt back

Your mouth 
is wet honeysuckle
your skin sighs
against mine
as you move lower

You stamp fingerprints
into my hips
graze kisses
down my thighs
thumb the backs 
of my knees

You twist your fingers 
in damp lace
and tug

Contributor's Note

Dadon Rowell is a poet and English master's student at the University of Waikato. She is also a part-time librarian, and has learnt that saying her thesis topic and job title make her dynamite at parties. Her work appears in previous issues of Mayhem and in the upcoming Poetry New Zealand Yearbook.


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