would you please read me the fine print
slowly
not like the ad man
tell me the corners I should look out for
as finely as they turn into wisps of steam
with feral bubbles under it
leave no detail uttered
they, leaving their bitterness in packaged packets
tied up with bows
that never can be undone
until swallowed whole and make room at the bottom of my stomach
since dumbed down hues of manilla and brown do not faze me,
my bones turn into flowers
that grow out of my mouth and into my fingers
away
© Engaisi Peter 2022. All rights reserved.
