THEEF (WHAT BIG TEETH YOU HAVE)
Oh, I have lockpicks for hands
and my teeth are hungry. I steal
your portrait from the clouds,
feast on you without care. I know
your flesh is not a meal for my gut,
no banquet for my cavernous mouth
held open and full of flies, but I am
hunger, and all I see is prey.
The tapping of knives against keys,
how I drag my tongue over glass
to claim you as my own. I take,
I devour, I consume.
[originally published in everything is mostly water]