Poem: Eau de toilette

the lush lip of

a dewy petal, suede and pale,

bruises are a hazard that blares

sharply in diffuse fragrance,

crushed veins, a slowly drooping head …

shamelessly to be discarded by the eye.

the flower has more in common

with the grave beneath it

than with the feet that trod above.

one keeps running from a given,

the other knows:

there’s nowhere else to go.

Copyright © 2019 Devina Singh
Header by Lisa Fotois

Poem: Children of Clay

Hey everybody, I’ve just uploaded my first audio recording on SoundCloud and it’s of me reading an original poem I’d written earlier this year (more info on the clip’s info). Please, do have a listen.

Safe to say I think we all cringe on hearing our own voices on recording.
Continue reading “Poem: Children of Clay”