Vegan butter cake
Chelsea measures her hair with a yard stick,
red nails poking through the tendrils; knuckles
noted in unlikely bows, the ribbon of curls
rubbing against jaw line,

thin is a beauty
devoid of substance -

A man wants bounce when he fucks
a woman, he wants breasts round and
full, and inside the back of her eyes
I can see the image of herself that she
lacks, the unbearable crunch of her teeth
across a pastry both regrettable and necessary.

Food is vile; we both agree to a subtle nod,
and a quick glance in the mirror. My mouth
tastes like plastic and warm water,

the green tea pumping through our veins might as well be blood.