"Mother, you are the one mouth
I would be a tongue to. Mother of otherness
Eat me."
— Sylvia Plath, Who
~*~
i miss
the pearly virgin white
of my fist curled small
as a sweet seven year old
plus a tender ten years
to unveil , as if
sparkling new .
you constellate — consternate
over my opened empty mouth
the embarrassment
of my bare shoulder
bared teeth : i am one baby tooth
away from a fresh water tear .
dear : you dapple in the corner of sclera
with the fear of my young years
collecting in pools ; vomit bleeds
from my nostrils and salt my eyes
as i grow sore across the mattress
and dream their hands divide
— the solitude of my thighs
six others beside mine
spread wide our four bellies
begged their three ribcages
open aired with mine our
fingers thread four tongues
tread each of our panting breaths
when a stranger it was my love
laboured on top of methem his
small deaths littered about
the room in empty wrappers —
a young bride i had never died before
(03/02/2018)