I tear the skin off my lip in layers.
Unpeel it far enough for sour berry juice
to seep from the cracks,
burst from the crevices and
taint the soft curve of my mouth in thick purple.
My teeth are stained from piercing the once
You hold my jaw in your hand.
Your palm is cool and your smallest finger twirls itself
in my hair.
It's a rope, and you knot it onto yourself.
The bones from my skull and your fingers clank together,
repelling, two sides of the same magnet.
A clockwork machine of your muscles,
tensing in your wrist,
pull me into your lips.
The sting of the berry is welcomed by your tongue.
You're now fluent in my sour slurs and the echo of cogs in your head harmonise to the clunk of mine.
this is an invitation for you to come find me