That's What She Said

And at the appropriate moment,
my hand slips into fur.

The long shock of it,
felt in the extremities -

transmitted from skin
and through the bluish roots.

The dimmed lights
at their lowest hiss.

Let me out, she says,
but the body won't do as it's told.

The smallest bones
drop soft from the mouth

and all the way down,
my darling.

The door is already open.
Let me out. Let me out.

Katy

Return the smiles of those who wish to fuck you.
Look to the sad backs of their eyes, the inverted image -
you naked as all hell,
the paint damp on your plum lips.
They find on you miniature signals – a gold charm
in a certain shape, a handkerchief wet with your scent.
There is always this series of green lights toward you.
Open your mouth,
your teeth like diamonds in a jewel thief’s palm.

Alex Bell lives and works in London. Her work has appeared in The White Review, The Rialto, Magma, The Quietus and And Other Poems. She is the author of the pamphlet Bad Luck Woman, and co-editor of Cold Fire: Poetry inspired by David Bowie.