the salt in my skin grants me a bit of safety from those who lap at the souls of the weak. the one or two who dared to taste recoiled their tongues, mouth more sour for having wasted saliva on me.
i understand how to live as a sharp misfortune of the senses.
but i don’t understand you, with your heart full of nectar ready to give a spoonful for a bitter tea, or a hearty cup for a neighbor with sudden need.
don’t you see the crows circling, waiting to gorge on your ripe heart? they take pieces like candy from a bowl, hoping to finding their whole from a beauty best not enjoyed in parts.
i don’t understand you, how you share so sweet a love with drifters on a sugar fix, a knowing smile on your face. crows dressed in a finch’s feathers chirp their pathetic thank you song, it is enough for you.