Raw illness rubs up
Against the wet meat of my
Indecisive tongue

and

I am sick with the
Taste of his filthy fingers
Snagging on my jaw

and

Honeysuckles bloom
Around the places that kept
Me from crying out

and

The air was too sweet
To explain why his breath felt
Like death’s brand across
My arched and aching
Spine. He ripped open my soft
Flesh and consumed me.