wipe that octopuss off your face. you’ve got a tongue like
a tentacle, and i never liked sushi. there’s one too many
‘sometimes’ in this conversation. i’d like to know exactly
when you’re going to sink your mandibles into me, what i’m
going to taste like. like nothing your mother ever made.
i’d like to stab you in the hand with a fork but all i’ve
got are these lacquered chopsticks. maybe i could get your
eye if you’d only hold still long enough. we could wrap it
in seaweed, call it a delicacy. see, flipper was actually
a girl and she committed suicide by refusing to surface,
and isn’t that like human beings and how i can’t always
(read: sometimes) bring myself to do the things i know are
good for me, like taking vitamins and loofahing my skin
every other day, like being sure to check all the mirrors
when i drive and going to church. like not sitting here
with you and eating this goddamn raw fish.



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