a convoluted mirror of my own

I am waiting for your words
warm and rich like spoiling honey
to drip down the insides of my bones
and pool in the middle of my stomach

sometimes i wonder what that would be like
to be suffocated from the inside with words, probably
not ideal, maybe painstaking, each

syllable a syrupy drop in the pit of my stomach
that left no ripple. And my words, where would they go?

would they spurt out of my mouth like a fountain?
delineating themselves in the sky, each letter falling
and hitting your upturned face, one by one by one

would you stand shocked? frozen with surprise? as my hs
broke on the bridge of your nose, and all my ssss hooked themselves
like fishhooks on your plump lower lip, my os like rings
encircling your ears. I think maybe you would look beautiful.

or would you open your mouth gaping and swallow my words whole?

would your eyes flicker with a sour flame and like
that game of stacking mangled chairs would my letters
lay confused, janky, and jutting in the pit of your

own body? a convoluted mirror of my own.