There’s a crown around your earlobes which nobody can see
And if I pushed in the right place you’d wind up like Rose Kennedy
But maybe there’d be no difference from the person I see now
The probe that’s reaching out to find a hollow in your skull
Eaten by wasps. They’re still alive, you know.

By my feet I notice coffee dregs
Drip from your eyeballs, with each trail
A garden sprouts. The hearts of roses
Stare me down, wishing me dead.
I pull out my handkerchief and wipe
Your brown sclera.

I’m hollowed out from
thorns slurping up juicy sugar, pumping venom
into my lovely bones.