i am approaching anciency
my expiry date the distance between
index finger and thumb,
beheading fluted plastic.
it is dark blue like the wine in my dream,
moët’s skinny dipping into flames
and this is how i taste my shrivel
they don’t feel that spiced dryness but i do
do check the carton before
purchasing any product.
2 ears late and the milk is sour on the tongue,
curd rising into its cream architecture
that knives the palate open as his
jaw shuts to a close
alligator i have broken you
elevator a love letter, a date.
eighteen years and quickly dying, damn.
choke that thought at its condensation
the light of the mind is blue like Plath
as dramatic, as true,
my yellow tongue pressed up against
your two front teeth are cracked
like the erosion of cameron highlands.
a landslide victory to nine years
and now a tumble down the stairs at
nine years more. my curdle fertiliser pours
into the soil of your lips, how
mutable, how they open
into the terror of my name
it is grey. first a toddler petrified, age-old,
no clatter of teeth but an exhale through
wrinkled crevices exhausted of rupture.
it barricades a lie, the noun your milkweed
melts into a mild meek smile
actually actually actually
, defined as the overstepping of time
rotten tongue missing the mark of the mind.