A scraped knee

Speculum like a scooping 

of frosting from the bowl — baby pink 

Congratulations it’s an opening (!!!!!)

A wound to ice a royal neck 

Fondant shimmer and rose oil—

All the things my wound is not 

Pink is the sound of a hook 

Satin is the peel of a scab 

Look but don’t touch fabric 

Salivate but don’t pet dressing 

I leak in frays of cherry corn syrup 

I sucrose like a gum pop 

My wound shrieks like that

Like a soft thing that shouldn’t burst 

I know plumage and moult 

like plunging neckline to my second navel 

That’s where all my pretty is, 

waiting in a prom dress 

with a sweetheart neckline 

My ache is the corsage that shrinks on the wrist 

of a girl who’s sucked 

on someone’s chew before 

her own fingers crunch 

The smacked lips that swallow 

themselves into a lining