Sarah Marchant: five poems

Joey at the mercy of my feelingsin the palm of your handyou’ve got me. headlights float outside my windowlike UFOs or the goat-drawnchariots of Norse gods. I’ll spell these figment cuddlesand kisses into starsimploding, melting at my fingertips. this has happened too manytimes and my smile has found its crease,but there are too few promises left to group like marbles,rolling…