In my last snapchat, I am topless, winking, my one eye
already half closed. I slurp my chocolate milk, believing
it will flush out the desire that made me drink it. I start
listing what I know:
Bears lick their cubs into shape.
Some hands are soft enough to steal the chicken egg from the underbelly.
We like to lay our love on the table and eat what’s left.
Drowning is like being in another country…like being stabbed in another country.
I want with teeth—a puncture on the cherry skin, all spit & instinct,
bumming one good drag—or two—from you. I tongue your name
like sore skin in my mouth. Your meal is my birthright, like
the bleeding of the thumb when you suck the cut and taste the iron.
I think about all the women who want you more than me.
I think about yanking the necklaces from the girls’ throats,
unconcerned whether I break the clasps or the girl.