Pillow Talking by Nate Kuler

Pillow Talking

You asked me
What I was writing about these days
And I lied like this:

‘We split open,
Two halves of a pale tree
Lightning-struck.
From within crawled the twins,
Freakish and transcendent
Like butterflies that soar at night.
Pilgrim clouds,
Beneath a moon
Solid and pitiless.’

You went to the bathroom,
And I lowered myself from the window by a knotted sheet
In my nightshirt and flat shoes.
A storybook orphan escaping into the night,
A clever maiden aunt
Outwitting the housefire.

By Nate Kuler


Nate Kuler is a shambles living in London, is twenty-five and still watches The Trap Door without irony.

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