no one loves a mind-reader,
not one who delights in secrets, lining
them up one by one on a mahogany shelf
dripping lemon honey from each glued on screw
there are emerald hummingbirds at the window
snapping their beaks against the fairyglass
but she will never let them in because these secrets are mine
mine, mine, and so the shelves grow,
the wood expands with each passing exhale. soft affairs
no husband would notice turn into big hulking monstrosities that people
prayed they could forget.
once upon a time this mind-reader told a boy
her secrets, she gave him half her dripping heart
and he took a bite, gave her his. she told him
about crouching cicadas falling dead onto her six year old head
rolling shattered fairyglass between her teeth daring for it to cut her
when she was twelve she read in her father’s biblical mind that the world was ending
she tried to beat it to the finish line. once upon
a time she read this boy’s mind as he held her in his arms. she asked him questions.
she didn’t like the answers his slippery tongue told.
honey grows mold
deadly bacteria hides in the sickly yellow
she gets drunk on it anyways.