12/2

there is a pear ripening in my mouth

the pear was already ripe when we got here.
a silken moon. foot prints left on my face.
out here there are not enough ways 
to say "sugar." snow comes. rain comes.
carry me like your dying planet.
your thumb through my skin. i want to ask you,
"do you still love me?" instead i ask
if you have a butter knife. i do not need much
in order to be content & yet it feels like
i need the tree to take me back. the house
to turn on its head. i wish you would come
& devour me like you used to. 

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