i am chomping on lemons: the pock-marked
peel splits under my canines, spilling sour
to drool out of my mouth (a grimace gashed
across my face) and stain me acid
yellow, a mockery of sunshine. swallow and
sear into my throat the pungency lacing
every word. i am sallow, hollowed
out where pomegranate should run; leave
behind the gnawed ash tunnel of
cigarette stubs burnt to nicotine teeth and
fetid lips. the words are rotted through with
rasp and smoke, slashed like serpent
eyes, slipping through the gap in my forked
tongue. when the burns rise up on
your arms, scabbing from scarlet to ashen
scars—maybe i will regret chewing lemons.