Purity by Dani R. Limos



is dust on the sill of your friend’s deserted

flat up a lampless street and oak leaf tartar.

A dangerous pair—two artists—you

undressing the room with a tuning fork,

I paying you in poems. How refreshing to

find paper isn’t always flat. And for one

moment between raindrops on the deck

and ticking from a frosty kitchen, we are

more bare than the nudes on the wall,

naked palm to palm, navel to navel, a

quick brush against a wood stove, a mug of

cider permeating icy fingers. How

inconvenient to be exposed after a few

dazed weeks of photography and key lime

pie. Your last delicate bow stroke tying

my words in a conventional period, like

old conjurers and druids in books who know

sand, bark, the twist of a snail shell is

more powerful and inconceivable than a trick.


Dani R. Limos is a writer who spent time in Malibu and Manhattan before moving to London. Her poems have appeared in DASH Literary Journal and The Rectangle. Say hello at

Image from Jlhopgood‘s Flickr


  • February 12, 2013 - 18:13 | Permalink

    Makes me miss my poetry class (not that I was any good). Enjoyed reading your poem!

  • Sara Bongard
    February 13, 2013 - 08:50 | Permalink

    What an incredible poem. Already knew how creative and talented you are but this is amazing,

  • Emma
    February 24, 2013 - 18:12 | Permalink

    “How refreshing to find paper isn’t always flat.”
    I love that.

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