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 me recoiled their tongues, mouths 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 an expanse of sweet sand, 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 hard candy from a bowl, hoping to find their whole from a beauty best not enjoyed in parts.

i don’t understand you, how you share so sweet a thing with drifters on a sugar fix, a knowing smile dancing on your face. crows dressed in a finch’s feathers chirp their pathetic thank you song and it is enough for you.

but if we tasted each other, your mouth would pucker and i’d be no better than the crow with your love in its beak.