A poem by Miriam Johnson, embracing the freedom that comes with going beyond physical attraction into the hidden depths. Illustrated by Kee.

Untie your shoes, set them by the bed.
Peel down your pants, place them, folded, on the chair.
Roll down your sleeves, unbutton your shirt,
hang it back in the closet.

Pull down your socks, toss them into the hamper.
Slide down your briefs, throw them aside.
Singe off your hair, pluck your brows,
wipe the strays, ashes away.

Stand for a moment in your husk,
allow the goose bumps to rise
as the chill air kisses your skin,
then shave it off.

Unzip your muscles, unwrap your tendons,
wind them back on the spool by the needle and thread.
Unlace your ribs, seal your stomach, kidney, spleen
in ornate perfume jars, line the empty bookshelf.

Crack your skull, leave for me
the wrinkled, grey mess that’s left.
The only piece of you
I want to consume.

To ensure that you never miss a future issue of the print magazine, subscribe from just £24 for 4 issues.