Linette Reeman

the art of consumption

the art of consumption is
the midnight tangle of your
arms under a gaping sky;
you swallow the verse i spit
like stardust into a black
hole starving for the scent of
the space between your neck
and shoulder—your eyes rip
the time/space continuum
apart; an alternate universe
is the only explanation for
the steady melt of minutes
into hours spent swirling
my fingers over your hips,
tasting salt on the tip
of your tongue; you are
an ocean crashing in my ears
and i am lost, dying of
thirst ending up knees-
scuffed devouring the sweet
of you like the last supper;
this is ecstatic—let me get
my hands through your
innards, keep-safe the pages
of papercuts i’ve been telling
about you; your smile is a
safe house and the art of
consumption is practice-makes-
perfect letting go of a storm.