#Alettertoyouall

the feel of wood against the wafer-back of my knuckles
gives me a reminiscent of
gurgled cackles in roughness
and I have been a child who loves a swallow of my mother's substitute
fidgeting my body,
robbing the autumn-chill out of my skin,
mailing back the exhaust-stench and evening-tea element scoured from my lungs.

Grandma says children are fools:
You're perforated and pregnant with foams stuffing your mouth-- I rhetoric,
why you're deceiving to glow that
which is embedded in my stack
of ribs. I smile now seventeen and I'm still a fool fooled foolish
under your surface. somehow i can hear you
vigor a muffle: a wave unpronounced when you take
the waters from my lids-- a name my teeth bites reverberating on your cotton, from a pit butter-flying inside of me.










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