Synaesthesia Magazine Americana - Page 55

was it laughter that drew me?

I found you on your knees,

shoulders shaking

and your hands spilled open,

weeping blood, twisting

my lips into a smile.

you rubbed yourself around me

like a cat too hot inside its skin,

admiring the silverwork

of my claws, pursing

your cherry mouth

as I hoisted granny

onto a butcher's hook.

after, we smoked kools.

you ran your hands across

the crimson hood of the car,

your coquette to my vette

and I knew I would not look

back, gunning the engine

into a blue sun.

I will die for this.


Are you okay?

Did you get those in jail?

How fast is this thing?

by Morgan Downie

illustration by Karen Boissonneault-Gauthier.