Soft Tissue

The sandwich was dry and the crust was a blade,

I bit through the skin where the nerves are all laid.

I stood in the bathroom, the light was too bright,

and opened my mouth to the glare of the white.

I lifted the muscle to look underneath,

away from the hunger and away from the teeth.

A floor made of silk and a web of deep blue,

a map of a country I never quite knew.

It’s quiet down there where the pulse is so thin,

just holding the secrets beneath all the skin.