he ubered to my throat
with a handful of oil dripping
down to his elbow. on my old laptop
the movie played & told us
where to put our faces. often,
i found it best to just accept
being the girl in his fry.
girl meat: chicken, sometimes hot dogs,
& turkey bacon. he told me this was
his favorite part & then took a bite
out of my throbbing. the bed broke
in half like a communion wafer.
he told his family i was a girl
& i said, "nothing to see here."
i would have done anything to be
the medallion or the slick-back.
took a ride through raw hamburger
& on the other side parked to watch
the moon lay empty. he was always hungry.
i thought being close to him i might
learn to be that ardent with my own
tunnels. held a fork like a
clutched key. walked home at night
vibrating with "no no no." how to
become a fold. the butcher in the heart
of every shadow. the movie still playing.
we danced on our own cutlets.
pointed, "there is my thigh" &
he claimed to know me
in the culinary way. a recipe
reached for in the earnest credit
rolling drive into the sunset mouth.
someone can say "i love you"
& just mean "i want to own
the most precious parts of you."
the duct tape it took to be holy.
his body gone but hands still
worlding around my throat.
oil stained bed. "i'd like to
see you again." movie still playing.
starting over. the beach ready
for bare us. the ocean, thickening.
a girl in the corner
looking down at her ankles.
press her like a folding chair
into nowhere. dollhood
in the dark. shadows waving