i am licking lemon custard off your cheekbones
and you are telling me about rupi kaur,
about how she changed your life,
and i am thinking
about lemon custard
and milk and honey
and how she changed nothing
but your Instagram feed.
is like breakfast for dinner.
two good things at once
doesn’t always double the good,
sometimes makes your stomach queasy
‘cause its seasoned with guilt.
buttery, mapley, patriarchal, millennial guilt.
the custard’s wiped clean
and i have never been this starved for words
so i am venturing toward your lips,
but you turn your head
and breathe out poetry
decorated with words so hollow
i could string them onto thread,
into a plastic necklace.
my hunger shakes my bones.
to hell with form, convention, critics, centuries of applicability.
to hell with Shakespeare.