at the end of the earth, i find {}

in wake of waxing crescent grand // mother asks if i have a girlfriend // i respond with an assemblage of stones in my throat // masquerading as language // the dirty ground has never reflected the moon // i peel a tomato between my thumb and fore // finger and suck the juice between my tongues // seed after seed in my lungs // we bask in fried fish scheming alliums // the fish eye drowns me in its knowingness // my brother parades his compulsive heterosexuality // he feigns cultural understanding // rewarded with red envelopes // when i bring {} // i am rewarded with malfeasance & gravestones // oh how i would love to lick the salt off those envelopes // to taste fingerdust and flaky skin // to bring him around with no questions // to tell them how i've kissed the sky