i dragged my tongue over the moon,
bit down on craters, binged on dust.
i ate the moon dry because
i needed something to fill me up.
waning skin, the darkness of
disappearance. i ate the moon
and she ate away at my flesh in return.
pipe dream skin, chimera body,
what do i have to do to convince myself
that the rust and rot of my twisting tongue
will never know satisfaction?
when its tectonic plates shift, and
i taste the dust at the back of my throat,
i will know. my lungs expand in a collision.
disaster of a diaphragm.
a mask over my mouth to protect,
a hand over my nose to deny.
an eclipse of a swollen stomach
to swell the breath, ease the bite.
what is self preservation
if not a means to an end?
sour drip to curb the hunger.
i ate the moon because i wanted something inside
that wouldn't hurt.