My heart is a red piece of areca
it curls in deep and dark in betel leaf
smelling like a dream you can hold in your hand.
Smooth, warm, and whispering
bite deep enough and you can feel
blood streaking with powders of lime
and the purest crimson ink
And if you bite even deeper
and the sun hits you just the right way . . .
your completely transparent
and devoid of all that is tangible and contained
For that moment
even if you can't hold it
it can surely hold you
heartbeats more and your whole and floating
your thoughts and dreams now opaque
already memory is only wisps of song
until you wet your ears with saliva
and shake away the stupor encircling your head
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