Tapas

How do I taste when oxidized on your teeth?
When the vitriol settles. When the blade hits the
floor. When my bones snap. Every cell ballooned
by your vinegar. My existence a buffet for you to
parade down Main. A clown grin. Like a defiant
scepter dashed on the limestone.
Call me home.
You won’t.
Instead, I am stove-topped and reduced like
marmalade. Or maybe I’ve been brûléed. But my
sugar is my weapon, honey. The crystals on your
tongue…what queer poison. Metabolize me as
I blossom from your grave. How do I taste?
Your unfortunate mistake.