Fruitless Trial 0/5 (1)

I poured gallons into you–
sickly-sweet honey, endless sticky flow–
Surely it made you sweeter,
a lighter taste on my tongue.

Yet I stayed floating in vinegar,
formaldehyde burns and the fetal curve of preservation
dyeing my skin in suspended decay.

I was a specimen you never cared to study too closely;
ornament, oddity, fascination,
sweet oddball, strange decor.
Glass jar on wooden shelf,
the perfect perch for perverse surveillance.

Paris looks upon Aphrodite and thinks her beautiful;
Eris looks upon the apple and finds it all too sweet.

There may be no island sanctuary within this amber sea;
you may carry me home on wax paper wings
and think me a fool for searching.

You heart evades me, your smile evades me, your skin evades me,
but, in honey or vinegar or sweet autumn cider,
your bones are mine.

 

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