…(a sushi epiphany)
I take you between my teeth
and pods are your meat,
hidden in a furry salt hammock.
I feel bad biting you,
sliding out all of your secret worth
from a seam in your side.
But you satisfy,
and rest in a mound of sure shells,
like piled smiles, certain of your tabletop purpose.
I think that if you could remove beads
from me
you’d have to go through my feet.
We must all be walking sheaths
and some
stay salted, soggy,
unshed.
I would rather be secret
than put back in the wrong bowl and tried again.
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