I bite into a youthful
toothless tomb.
My insides echo
with absence.
My mouth
rusts into
ahhhhh
slick black gap.
The pearly petals melt
within my wilted gums
like lipstick
into waxy summer puddles.
And the tomato on the linoleum
is wrinkled rotten
and holed with mold.
And the paint is caked in yellow smoke.
The ovaries flee the autumn trees
and the orchid on the mirrored vanity
and the orchid on the mirrored vanity
sheds its electricity.
I am the fly:
a desperate buzz
that licks at the beauty shit--
A tongue to own its onus;
to breathe its impossibility.
I am the conch
shell.
Listen to hear
the ocean of disowned.
