Read the featured writer of the week, Z.D. DICKS, in the featured room, CANDELABRUM, below and then visit the ARCHIVE for more Pink Plastic Poets and their words.

The Candle / Z. D. DICKS

 

The candle flame jumped in my bedroom

as netting was pushed aside     by draught

carrying vanilla and coconut     from open

pores     when spider lace dropped     but

its lines were carried     a ghost print on skin

 

They danced     as shadows on that thin feather

each curve     gleaned     by flick and caress

of light     armoured in nakedness     wearing

the night as negligée     a woman was

undressed     the closer her cat eyes glowed

 

At her back     and slumped on the ceiling

she threw off her garter and french knickers

her corset ripped by one step     and as she

leaned forward     the spectres     swirled

on corner posts     but she was warmed

 

Not by suppressed flicker     an open window

or a duvet flung to floor     but by a man

a phantasm     clothed in black

Z. D. Dicks has appeared in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Fresh Air Poetry, As it Ought to Be, I am not a silent poet, The Hedgehog Poetry Press and described as ‘a gothic Seamus Heaney’ by Anna Saunders.