Citrus

Line me up like grapefruit peels on the rim of a bathtub.
Pink acid seeping lazy into your gaping pores,
Sink one bitten thumb into the rind and taste the split,
Hear the tear. I want my flesh to tug away in tiny cotton threads
That stick to your palms and dry hard.

There will always be numbers. Let me sour a little on your tongue,
Get caught between your teeth. I want to linger on your fingers,
Acidic, distasteful. I'll slide unnoticed in molecules down into the water
That marinates you, dribble down your chin to pool in the juicy basin
Of your bellybutton. My seeds will forever come as shocks.

Line me up like grapefruit peels on the rim of a bathtub.
To teeter, to curl in on myself, to gently mold.