Saccharine
(or Sundays using the air fryer)
Saccharine
⥿
flashes of pink and silver
with their scary fucking mouths
captured from fresh water
skin left intact
vacuum-sealed
this one
marinated too long
sitting on a kitchen throne
of lemon peels
and crumpled paper
inside polyethylene
In its previous life
it engaged
in parallel play
and I bought it on sale
to engage
in quiet sentimentality
trying to reproduce
the air fried golden trout
we had for brunch that Saturday
but I failed
Kokanee pilsner,
empty amber bottles
build a dilapidated home
in the recycling bin
and our sleepy words
bring us
to your full-sized bed
my flesh of pink and
your skin left intact
inside polyurethane
trying not to reproduce
and we don’t fail
and we play it safe
and we self-sabotage
we don’t engage
and we parallel play
and we mirror
what we think the other wants
and we drink too much
or none at all
and why recreate something
that tasted mild to begin with?
even if it contained
the flavor of the sun
sometimes
why not swim away
before the sunrise
before
we become
stifled
acidic
saccharine
or waste this
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
About the Creator
Kayla Frances Murray
🙞 Southeastern US-based writer/poetess 🙜
Comments (1)
Great job’! Very fishy! Good work!