i watch tiktoks of bakers making my face.
in the basement i keep knives & serving pedestals.
he is cutting the throat of the moon to stand beneath
a waterfall. i wish someone would teach me how
to coat the edges of my life like this. a blurr blanket.
mixing sugar & sugar mirage. the baker is careful.
knows nothing about my nose & my cooked teeth.
instead he works from memory of the last time
he made a mirror cake. his own reflection peering up.
severing his face into eight slices. one night
my bathroom mirror shattered without warning
i kneeled to collect fragments. my face in each.