eat me, she said
and she folded up her head.

i played at the creases until they bled
my want is a seagull with blood on its beak
not falling on
fish in a creek-
my need is a more prudent bird

you taste like your words
and i believe them, you taste like
direct sunlight hitting the brain
!the best kind of pain!
popsicle-stick headaches
and fat drops of rain

i am ready to ask you to let me in
i am ready now
to collect you on my chin.

I said all the words I knew,
wrapped them with crepe paper
in gold
and hand-delivered them to you

I gave my cat’s tiny tongue
A hundred postage stamps
to lick
Stuck them all over the box,
in the end
it was the words that wouldn’t stick

And still
I couldn’t make you love me.