when i saw you hovering there
          some little
                    brown thing
i thought of my nails
          scraping across pink flesh
the amassing of skin under
          their beds
                                                 know this

had I been born from some kind of egg
         hatched as a larvae
                   thirsty for blood meal
the weight of the tortillas
        might not have felt
                   so light in my hand
as I brought them to you
        speed like colors
                   against a cabinet door