Whenever she eats a naan bread, she is inside the out
of herself. She chews—and
chews—and lives alone
as an essence under your eyes.
No, your nostrils.
So which of you would believe her
if she told you each day she throws
those limbs of hers into a blender,
power on, puree? And he sometimes comes with?
Here is the pile of knots.
Untangle yourself before the late
These walls are so very thin
so make sure you stuff
yourself more. Wait up,
you left your morning feet behind,
there on the bedside floor.
Her: a cartoonish, Frooty Pebbles cereal,
a surreal whirl. An incomplete protein, but bliss when she should.