The Sickest Burns

by November 24, 2017 0 comments

because you always know
where my skin is
the most raw
you have earned
the right to know
the settings on the stove
perfect for
roasting me, charring
my tenderness until
I can wear it like
memories, intimacy,
the pleasure of
fire, absence of sting
in favor of slow-
cooked perfection
these flashes add up over time
I am well-done now
take me out
eat me

editors note:

The perfect recipe for… disaster? (We welcome Brendan to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

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