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nibbles & hickeys.



shut your mouth, moths feeding off
empty plates,
colliding & combining under my
yellow light, eyes set on
the vacuum on my plate & my
menu of simply, only, just
you.

tastebuds, tastebuds, where are you?
find my lover; it's a pity
moths don't stay for orange sunrises,
though i'd cook him compensations for the loss
of his wings.
& now my ingredients are disappearing in a
sea of silver fish;

losing my appetite.

Please tell me what you think

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Comments

  • Asabouros.
    April 10

    Edit | Reply
    " though i'd cook him compensations for the loss
    of his wings. "

    i think that is amazing.