How do I taste when oxidized on your teeth? When the vitriol settles. When the blade hits the floor. When my bones snap. Every cell ballooned by your vinegar. My existence a buffet for you to parade down Main. A clown grin. Like a defiant scepter dashed on the limestone.
Call me home.
You won’t.
Instead, I am stove-topped and reduced like marmalade. Or maybe I’ve been brûléed. But my sugar is my weapon, honey. The crystals on your tongue…what queer poison. Metabolize me as I blossom from your grave. How do I taste?
Your unfortunate mistake.