take a bite
she arches her spine all
the way back, tilts upside down head
and smiles, skin tinged blue
she didn’t have enough oxygen
in that locked up wardrobe of your heart
tick, clack, tap,
until the frame cracked
releasing her and that mothball nostalgia
all pent up.
she sniffs out shreds of make believe
you made a religion out of.
preserved under your tongue like
the end papers in classic poetry vol. 3
are the forget-me-nots you pretend to hate
almost as much as shakespeare.
torn quarters of a love letter
you wrote on the back of a map of oxford
signed, sealed,
fossilized against your skull,
but not delivered.
brittle wax candy wrappers
with their still-blushing-rabbits
still the pink and red
of your sticky fingers
cavities incriminate the fluffle
that got you in trouble.
she salivates
over your limp and crumpled things makes
a papier mâché heart places
in the palm of your hand
her teeth gleam with your real-life juices
like she just took a bite and
wants you to do the same.
when you’re done
gorging on your own heart
she peels your cadaver in two
climbs in and stitches
you back up.
you continue to devour.
