there fits a hint of real in the freshness

snapping in the pop of moss

unpicked

my heaven a sort of lawn,

muslin for the afternoons

and i sat frosty under your gaze.

snap the elastic in protest

but the corner will not cooperate

against the pull no matter how you tug

at my seams

for i broke in stitches

one by one frayed.

unsewn.

undone, heralded against the dawn

they ate me quick

before found.

devoured cheeks full,

mumbling crumbs.

not me, mother.

and from within, i fermented.

like the heat under blankets

as i writhe in the fire of you.

alone.

ⴲ.