since it’s dinner

it’s dinner, and i want to leave. i want to
break something,
while it still quivers, skimp its cover
before it picks itself up from dirt
and pleads. watch it
emerge like fish guts
stemming from the fingers,
its intestines sewn into calluses. i want
to taste something like the shape
of the word, satisfaction, hold the syllables
between the incisors
to flex them when i want to swallow
the taste of invisible. i want to listen
like an animal, pedal the sulfur stench
from a distance denuding. learn how
it speaks to itself, a language only known
to doves and its lovers. i want to tell myself
that it is alright to unwind, let breath well
up until its brink, until i break into its skin,
            tensing,
fracturing. i want to make love to the night, find
it while it is still soft as eraser, before it pinks. tighten
the womb as it enters like a kiss.

Alisha Yi is a writer from Las Vegas, Nevada.

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