Pink Velvet, Tight Ribbon

Wisteria Deng

Beneath the quiet waves hide sea creatures and strange 

monsters. Coming to life before the first stroke

on a blank canvas, between two pale fingers.

I spill myself over your 

sharp edges. I am

thick drops dripping from your frame. And you rise

from sea creatures and young monsters.


A stream of primal desire sucked

to a small studio. A sack of lava swirled inside

a stuffed rabbit. Pencil in your hand, each gesture a siren calling 

for the indecisive winter.


I am thick drops dripping

from your frame and you are in mine.

A few more innocent gazes and a groaning mouth to contain

your thorn. A frame expands. Stranded. 

Strip. Spread wide 

to fit you. A frame

with pink velvet tied as a ribbon, tight

as an invitation.


You are static electricity. You command

strange sea creatures

and young monsters with prodding thorn. 

Gather around me. Streams

of secret wishes and safe words. 

Flood me. 

With brute force and specks of dust, 

flood me.

Pink velvet, born to desire, its curvature

fits the spine of sea creatures. 

Tie a ribbon around my waist, tighten

your strained caress.

Make me a gift 

of half-filled ocean, swirling

poison. Make me streams 

of your primal sketch and I will flood you

with the same search. Come

to my cave. There we grow strange sea 


together. Watch them

probe thorns into each other’s mouth.


Tie pink velvet around their open legs. Make them

bend. Two limbs would make a ribbon. Two would beg

for a feast.

Wisteria Deng graduated from the University of Michigan with a B.A. in Psychology and Creative writing. She currently lives in Boston, does clinical psychology work and writes her first book-length memoir. She is a mental health practitioner, a writer and a daughter.