Listen, because I’m telling you: snakes abound
around here, kiss you in your sleep. We all eat
a thousand a year without knowing.
We all make noises in our sleep. Snakes listen.
Are you listening? You never look at me,
hand me roses like mirrors, all false reflection.
I’m made of Lace, I’m made of snakes,
or that’s some goddess on TV. I’m following
you with a push-broom, sweeping up your dead
skin-scales. I’m following you on Twitter.
I miss your forked tongue. I miss the way
my toes broke under you, the way you forgot
it in your sleep. I had to tell you. You looked
at the bruises as if they didn’t prove
a thing. As if I couldn’t purple,
as if I’d been stone.