SOUR MORNING

Masterfully peeled like a mellow fruit
I drop in submissive slices
Before the very blade
Cutting up you chin
While mocking
From the silver corner of your wretched
Undone mouth
My quilted chaos.
I squeeze my spongy lungs
Like hugging orange segments
Then cautiously pour myself
In shapeless drops
Within your glass
Souring your early whisper
So that you spit me
Among the sweetest disenchanting curses
And hymns of your fading devotion.