Mar 17

claudia in first grade

sometimes i rip ginger from the root; bite down, it makes my eyes water.
(turns my spit to heat)
i won’t ask to have it repeated because i feel a child among the ones who carry solid teeth.
mine are there, bones, but have seen nothing on you.

in four hours i’ll write again, taste to a kidney. fermented grape to ours.
do you like the sap of grenadine, or the body of a man

(i think split ends were dyed, i didn’t know)
i was six, then. you were thin-lipped with a girl to your waist.