Once More, with Feeling
After Buffy the Vampire Slayer S6E7
it only works if you trust her
equator sunset
habanero sweat
tiger lily bedspread
habanero sweat
tiger lily bedspread
she asks you for a happy place
you tell her grass, trees, birds
meadow foxtail
celandine floor and everyone
you’ve ever met
unmasked and smiling
meadow foxtail
celandine floor and everyone
you’ve ever met
unmasked and smiling
afternoon sand suckers you
to the Santa Marta hostel sheet
ceiling tops you
to the Santa Marta hostel sheet
ceiling tops you
she points your eyes at your breath
she says close your eyes
you ask where to put your hands
it doesn’t matter
she says close your eyes
you ask where to put your hands
it doesn’t matter
hypnosis as foreplay
it’s like
homeopathy
Natalie Imbruglia on low and a scented candle
anti-vaxxers astral projection
9/11 was an inside job
it’s like
homeopathy
Natalie Imbruglia on low and a scented candle
anti-vaxxers astral projection
9/11 was an inside job
she counts back from ten
eight five three
two one
go to your happy place
eight five three
two one
go to your happy place
you don’t go to grass, trees, birds
you go to the first pill you took
and the place you saw when Buffy said
she was in heaven
and the place you saw when Buffy said
she was in heaven
you are warm and dark and rainbow
you are strobe light finding love in the corners
you are formless and finished
you are strobe light finding love in the corners
you are formless and finished
she describes the colour
of grass, the sibilance
of bees
of grass, the sibilance
of bees
you hum in a lightless galaxy
let go of everything
you haven’t done
let go of everything
you haven’t done
the relief of being nothing
so fucking huge
so fucking huge
don’t be afraid of the vibrations
she walks the length of the bed
queening
she walks the length of the bed
queening
you are the bedspread
the swimming sun
not remotely turned on
the swimming sun
not remotely turned on
use your mind to move your soul
from your body hapless Willow
with the Urn of Osiris
from your body hapless Willow
with the Urn of Osiris
but when you reanimate
a corpse, only the living
are saved
a corpse, only the living
are saved
she reaches your feet
birds leave hypothetical trees
pulls down your bikini bottoms
for what you instantly recognise
as the last time
for what you instantly recognise
as the last time
you earmark the moment
for future reference
for future reference
coerce yourself
to a polite orgasm
to a polite orgasm
Amy Acre is a freelance writer and performer from London. Her first collection, Where We’re Going, We Don’t Need Roads (flipped eye), was chosen as a PBS Pamphlet Choice and as one of the Poetry School’s best books of 2015. She is the editor of Bad Betty Press, shortlisted for Most Innovative Publisher in the 2018 Saboteur Awards. amyacre.org
