Salt

Friday, a sacred umbrella morning
Five mosquitoes lie unconscious by my side
Any moment, their eggs will wake with the smell of my sugar
Stroking the bed of my cheeks to a breakfast song in my throat
The night has left her clothes on the floor in a rush
While her mice silence is a part of my body now
Cross-legged like deep kisses embedded inside pomegranates
That day, glaciers stung me as I was cold in the head
I wished I could kiss my own forehead