Bittersweet Chocolate Mucus Membrane
When you remember, a lonely peppermint stick dips into
bittersweet chocolate past, encrusted, lost from the dripping pot,
pulsing still, cracking out from within? What is this jacket
that hangs on me now, why does it curse me by staying, bugs
tickle every inch of my skin and I scratch with my nails, hard
and red and wrinkled layers peeling — What is this skin jacket,
it is not like me, I don't recognize it and it fits worse than
a turtleneck around my emotional throat, my tight tempered throat
it preserves itself, "I will swallow no more" it says to the world.
It turns a lot of phrases in the day, lies in the sunlight,
and constricts so much tighter in the night when memories come.