Naomi Morris



it takes 2 to tango it takes

2 to but it doesn’t because

this is what it was like waiting for you



it takes 2 to bathe though

you remained so dry so ecological


so puffed up with grains

grown from your own greenhouse

that do nothing but make my belly

bloat and dome like a pregnancy

that i thought about faking i thought about

faking our little baby just to frighten you


fuck i wish i could say that your

skin peeled with the injustice of it

like carrot gratings like shredded

pieces of (no more) page 3

like soiled petals of plants that

smell like the bin collection shedding

seeds on passersby who pad them

to distant car parks and i wish

that you fell away into a pile

once you climbed out of my bathtub


i squeezed your little selves into the toilet bowl

i pushed until i had no more cause

what would be better than you leaving me for yourself

was if all my intestines ovary IUD appendix liver

nicotinelactoseglutensugar could be flushed gone






             I stroke my solitude
like burgundy velvet it sings
to me I am 100 in 1


I am the organ in a 70s song

      I lift my skirt up
it is the netting of cheap ballerinas

               itching like grids

     like hair growing back in bits


I stroke my honey lemon

       menthol with my tongue

  the smog of seclusion

         clinking off my molars


like compiling a list

             I leave me to me


gliding like a cruise liner

through the hours of this


                through the hours of this 

Naomi Morris is studying for her Creative Writing MSc at University of Edinburgh. She is Editor-in-Chief of 50GS, an online journal run by Masters students.