my stomach has velcro.
you yo-yo with
the soft tissue, matted;
wrap it with twine
around your palm, and
play ping-pong with
the leftovers.

(i wonder how i'd taste micro-waved;
wonder if you'd consider me sloppy seconds.)

but the thought
of you with him turns me,
it flips my insides.
i crashed
for your memory, shattered
on promises and wax.

i burned low.
you blew me out.
said i was getting
dangerously close to
catching the tapestries.

i suppose
i should thank you, but
how could i, when you've
sold me out for comfort.

(i could never feel gratitude
for being a substitute ingredient
in a life you never wanted
in the first place.)

12/13/2003

Author's Note: sistered to "and this is where your fear has brought us."

Posted on 12/13/2003
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