mooncakes

Sickly sweet,

Your words touch my prefrontal cortex

Like soft burning snow.

Your touch tastes sweeter

Than ice cream

On a humid sun-streaked day.

You,

Frost-borne by the north wind,

Oh-

Punctured the main artery, sunsets flowing down your ribcage, dull frantic thud-

I’ve done it again,

Left an empty hole in the middle of your chest

Maybe there was something there before

I hold my secrets in the shape of stars,

constellation-clustered candy like flaming balls of gas.

Sometimes they have five points.

Sometimes six.

Always, they burn

in that space inside your head

These are my bones-

Perfectly structured, pristine white.

Here, take my skull, that forever grinning phantom reminder,

And keep it in the gold chest that sits by your fireplace.