the end is cake & so is your face.
we go for a cemetery walk, forks in hand,
& the grass wants to argue about global warming.
i say, "there is still hope" & the grass says,
"if only you knew what all the green knows."
it is my birthday again for the fifth time this week.
i am exhausted with wanting to want. on my phone
i scroll through custom funerals. you take a bite
of a tombstone & say "it tastes like raspberries."
i forgo the fork & dig in with my hands. sugar under nails.
swallow the surname. then, it is stone again. rubble.
you lead me away as if my hunger didn't happen.