Cooking my Insides

My tears that slope the curved hills are salted with joy and spiced with purpose. They water the songs of my skin with notes of ranged oblivion. 
My breath tends my internal city, cooking to perfection.
Oxygen steams the veintables;my bones saturate in flavored fat

and I morph into
celebrating chef. 

 

Let me Hear Your Insides

When you bite your tongue
a heart corner of mine
flutters upwards.

I need you to speak your insides.
All the minutes
of any second.
Even if scary and dark,
even if you know it will hurt me.

When your tongue is bitten
you only ever stay where your words are.
Inside.

I need you outside-

to see and hear and feel your insides
on the outside.

Then you’ll know that
your whole being
is being loved.

And not just your representative.