By P.H.G.

The Latest Flame

I’m having an affair with a box of matches
But don’t tell anyone
Some of my more loyal friends know,
but my family would never understand 

Its sardonic rattle in my grip
Chaos scittering in fragile, uniform pieces
The rough shink
when it opens itself to me,
the cardboard playing a little hard to get

The coarse vibration of the phosphorus head 
dragging over the hexagons
of signature oxblood stripes
The colour of long lust and mayhem

We have our differences, sometimes
As with all passionate affairs, there is
Friction
But without it,
Well,
We wouldn’t have the chemistry we have
That spark of desire and need
That fire

Each strike hisses secrets
Telling me how it likes to have
its smoke held in my mouth
It whispers to me and only me
I burn
I pine 
I perish
So I burn too
Immolated
Until we are both reduced to nothing 
but ash

The Sick and the Citrus 

Let the lady with the needles do her work.
Place your heart in her hands,
still beating and bloody,
and hear your new heartstrings
Thrum to her rhythm

Let her pricking thumbs
weave patterns and webs
in your epidermis
Enjoy your new tight seams,
intricate and minuscule,
before she unravels you

In her girlhood, she practiced on oranges
As many aspiring pre-meds do
Oranges, mimicking the tension of
human skin
Were stitched and laced in her kitchen
With methods from thick textbooks
But something darker called to her
Something unseemly
A hunger to be sated
A thirst to be quenched
A feeling unfelt by healers
And her young dreams fell away,
as so many do

So here she is
And here you are
With your own hungers and thirsts
In this place where
we feel what is unfelt
by the sick and the citrus

Give in to the need
and the cunning craft
Let her pierce your rind,
bring your pain to the surface,
And drink deeply

An Acquired Taste

I have never eaten a mind before
Yet you offered me yours,
served in delicate china bowls
with cracks from crimes against the raw ceramic
outlined dark veins
You handed me a dessert spoon
and begged me to taste
With complete freedom to make substitutions
as I wished

It came away against the silver like a fine mousse
I had expected to need a steak knife
or at the very least something with bite
But it seems I have a talent
for cutting through you

You have an intricately seasoned subconscious
It seems it has been waiting a long time
for an epicurean like me
Its flavours simmering
blending
and steeping into something
rich and strange

With my first taste,
I knew the meaning of gluttony

Your brain pleads for an elegant wine pairing
Suggested by a sommelier
in hushed tones and a pressed suit
Perhaps a merlot, to bring out the flavour of obedience
Or a fine chianti

And now I cannot have enough
My hunger grows
I hide little snacks in dishes with lids
I sneak into the kitchen with a ladle,
Adding new spices with crazed abandon
I pick out stuck scraps from between my teeth
and under my fingernails
To savour you all over again

It is never enough
I am never sated
I am never satisfied
I find myself eating grey matter over the sink,
thoughts dripping from my elbows into the porcelain
with a soft think

Biographical Statement: P.H.G is a writer with a background in Shakespearean theatre living in England. Although she has a diverse range of interests, her writing frequently features a unique blend of sensuality and darker kink themes. Previously only writing for personal expression, she is now seeking publication for the first time after ten years of scribbling.

Artist’s Statement: These works were not originally written to be grouped together and were written at very different times. However when reviewing pieces to submit, their compatibility was very evident. All three have very specific and intertwined subjects which personally I have not come across in other poetry.

The Latest Flame is about my own feelings towards kitchen matches, an object-based fetish I have had since I was 17 and one which is so rare, I had to make the tag for it myself on popular kink websites.

The Sick and The Citrus is a poem I wrote as a character study, but really the subject is an amalgamation of myself, other wonderful ‘vampires’ I have met on the kink scene, and the young pre-med girl who first told me that oranges have the same thickness and resistance as human skin. Hence why budding surgeons practice stitches on them.

An Acquired Taste is the real reason I wanted to write an Artist’s statement. The other two could stand on their own without explanation, however I would be fascinated to hear from readers how they interpret this piece. Art is meant to be subjective and poetry is always open to interpretation, so this one is ripe for projecting the reader’s thoughts and personal focuses on. However, what this piece is truly about is hypnosis. Specifically, erotic hypnosis done within a dominant/submissive dynamic. A very special submissive introduced this to me, and previously I hadn’t ever given much thought to hypnosis other than stage tricks and tv. In case you don’t know, allow me to tell you; it is real. It is powerful. It is addictive. It is dangerous. And it is one of the best things about being alive.

A special thank you to the Editor for indulging me.