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2 poems

by kiki nicole

kiki nicole is a Black, Queer, and Non-binary multimedia artist and poet. They’ve received invitations to fellowships such as Pink Door Writing Retreat, The Watering Hole, and Winter Tangerine. kiki hopes to lend a voice for the void in which Black femmes not only exist in plain view, but thrive. Their debut chapbook, Autobiography of the boi Venus, is forthcoming. Find them at kikinicole.com

"(i am thinking about how she will go)" was shortlisted for the 2020 Peach Gold in Poetry with guest judge Alok.

"WORMTONGUE" was longlisted for the 2020 Peach Gold in Poetry with guest judge Alok.

(i am thinking about how she will go)

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this, an ode to yr hands + what her need them to do / to me. tonite, i make room for this rancid, tho / queered union   this         white devil waltz / bowl my body + o,    how it needs.

to me, she made good yr body. Tonite / may leave my lips burdened           but she needed this / (o) my  body bowl spooned her        blood  batter  /  whipped.  the  golden   of   her

            this peach emoji pussy                  + u, a

raw

she think she need. she leave yr lips anointed w/ grease        some chicken + waffle type sexy  /  yr tongue has no room for. to you, she’m crisco exotic                       tonite, queer

tomorrow, rancid / monkey emoji pubic. the dirt of her body whipped raw + u knead / ode to the body that feeds + the hungry hand + the gaping mouth belonging            to          whom?

tbh, she bowl body to be filled idc w/ what the whole  point  of  hunger  is              to  fix / this

empty need she had for anyone’s hands. this was an ode frantic + u answered.          good.
with u in the mouth / she forget.

WORMTONGUE

somewhere between an unbalanced pH level

& a constant curve

i bleach the crotch of my briefs & slither into my winter-skin

sometimes i be talking to someone & then i just                                   stop           

 i think i am the guy TLC warned you about                 otherwise   known   as   a

busta          or              i  don’t  truly   know

what          i am     just a long plump tongue of a body      now     plaque pale      i suppose    no one sees me anymore until it rains & then     too 

much of me            i   split   into   millions

     damp   little   ghosts   squeezing    our

     breathing  caskets  long   &   over  one

another’s sticky trails      straining for breath or whatever comes after being alone               i, Echo                     again,

gnawing   at   muggy   walls   for  a  voice

       other than my own     

i  taste  the  scent  of             Messy  Bitch

      through my skin muscles        i      am

slick

 with it     how fertile       my ugly