Sterling spoon
On the chipped saucer
Like a whiplash tiger,
Vibrant and alive.

The spoon of curves and sighs
The mud cloth and
a threaded, swollen tunnel
ready to wrap its prey
like the scratch of a sea urchin
on a hideous fingerling’s shell.

Don’t mistake light for peace, she says
The spoon for the sugar, the gasp for the kiss.

You’re bent and tiled-eyed,
The floor with whirrs and gentle cooing
Coiled ‘round your breath in waves.

Don’t touch the spike,
Don’t wink the scratch to sleep.

You are to be
With sand that settles on the rocks.

You are to be
The heaving coral near the shore.