the glass i adore
shines above rotten dirt and molded tomatoes
it gleans for a blue heat and shines the stems squished,
crushed. its thick, warm creak
glides through bones
in a breath held tight, close,
kept in murky dirt of dirt
without fuzz. god, parse through soil made
with an unmaking and suffocate in its stench,
my glass taps words above grass
which is the love i have not wanted
well. where did the vegetables go? meet me
where my hidden vegetables went,
where green and unmaking
are never spent.