I think the rotten peachpit heart of desire
is a creature I never
want to see.
Yours never hid the shape of itself,
only the face.
(at night I see its features
leering eyes crooning mouth sagging skin
I see you, finally)
The space between force
and choice; choice, stupidity –
you left me honey in the space-between
where your body is gone and mine
sags with your memory.
Tess LeBlanc is a card reader and gin drinker living in Vancouver. Most of her friends are dolls.