butter butter

give me the velvet. i want the butter language 
& the ladle of fins. a ball pit full of salmon scales.
i dye the moon red with strangled beets. 
all day everyone is saying, "how are you?"
as if the forest isn't burning & the birds
aren't trying to get retail jobs. it's too expensive
to be an angel. instead, we cut off the tips
of our fingers & join the fountains in weeping.
i learn alchemy from a library book
with the only goal of turning my blood to milk.
i want to be able to feed a little goat
even if i am absolutely gone. there is the question
of where to keep the butter so that no one
will come & put their thumbs in it.
my first husband insisted on keeping it
in a shoe in the middle of the table. he cut off my head
just to watch it grow back. we are much more 
& much less resilient than it seems.
if i had endless butter, or so i tell myself,
maybe i wouldn't have tried to live in his teeth.
a bunk bed that always turns into a horse.
i could never figure out how to ride it.
instead, we ate apples & watched the moon rot. 
i don't want the almost butter or the spray butter
or even the butter from that haphazard love.
give me the butter butter. the good stuff 
that none of us has had before. i want to spread
a blanket. i want the sun to come & melt us
into sweetness. invite the last deer.
invite the final hawk. we will come & decide
what butter will be now. i am terrified.
here is my throat. tell me what it tastes like to you.