The years have ground your bones
Into dry flour
Bleached white with acid
And sifted through drooping eyelashes.
I am butter softening slowly
Encased in crinkled foil
But I've lost shape
And '25 grams' are now 15.
We rub together
To form a reluctant breadcrumb
Under uneasy hands
With enough flour to fall apart
And it is bitter.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
The years have ground your bones
Into dry flour
Bleached white with acid
And sifted through drooping eyelashes.
I am butter softening slowly
Encased in crinkled foil
But I've lost shape
And '25 grams' are now 15.
We rub together
To form a reluctant breadcrumb
Under uneasy hands
With enough flour to fall apart
And it is bitter.
