Pickling


I want to try
a gas station pickle,
to learn about
the nature of my heart
a little more.
Seeing you
under the pulsing lights
beside me,
to feel the sour
of its meat again
the way I have for weeks.
I left my love in a jar,
keeping it in there
on the shelf so it wouldn’t die.
Learned to love vinegar.
Couple of dollars
for a few more waking hours.
My heart growing salty,
my mind going insane
as I loved you more
and more.
I have fingers that
crave everything,
desperation like a topical cream
on my skin.
Liking you kept
my breath flowing,
my body blooming
on my mattress for more nights.
Not perishing
or keeping my old profile.
Now, I’m sweet
as a new rose.
I bite heads off
and make room for flavor.
You are my spice,
my midnight highway kid.
I love eating sensory information
like a computer.
This encoded in my veins.

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