CLASSIFIED UNDER NO NAME

Would I have kept you closer, longer, if you’d been a soft toy
that found my empty arms when the nights were endless instead
of your characteristically classy chaos the posters never chose
to optimize

or were we meant to be just chalk running into the deluge
of the rainstorm?

Should I have been less passionate and you more personable
or I more placid and you less proud?

We were stuffing, in the end, plucking feathers from our insides
out through skins that had neither thickened nor tendered enough
to survive those endless flooding nights together in that hold
we never named.

Un nom, c’est quoi, un nom- la tien, la mien, le nôtre ?

Un non est seulement une chose que tu donnes à quelque chose
quand tu le comprends.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

ONLY AFTERWARDS

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He tasted of pine
pressed into skin,
nicotine fingers
and beer bound breath
naked beneath
the fairy lights
and twinkling balls
as a cat and dog
watched their shadows
kissing on the walls.

She tasted of punch,
cinnamon sticks
and orange scents
with red rimmed lips
and bare naked breasts
to blush the baubles,
suspenders suspended no more
as the cat and dog
played with discarded clothes
on the floor.

New Year’s Eve
had become New Year’s Day
as she took him to her bed
to screw away the hangover
and reason out the resolutions.

It was only afterwards that she asked him his name.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly