“give your daughters difficult names. give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. my name makes you want to tell me the truth. my name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.”

“i gut fruit with my mouthpush tongue into black belly of papayapeel lychee with teethbite into ripe pearsuck on stone of mangoall of this, over the kitchen sinkbarefootmiddle of wintersticky hands pushing hair away from facemoaning into sweet fleshthe whole timeyour name flat against the roof of my mouth.”

“On the night of our secret wedding when he held me in his mouth like a promise until his tongue grew tired and fell asleep, I lay awake to keep the memory alive. In the morning I begged him back to bed. Running late, he kissed my ankles and left. I stayed like a secret in his bed for days until his mother found me. I showed her my gold ring, I stood in front of her naked, waved my hands in her face. She sank to the floor and cried. At his funeral, no one knew my name. I sat behind his aunts, they sucked on dates soaked in oil. The last thing he tasted was me.”

“if you gave me half a moon of a chancei wouldkiss the incisors out of your mouth, cleanand hold them in my own, like chippings from an old mugthenpray my tongue intoa bowl of holy waterand ask god to neverleave you thirsty.”

“i don't know when love became elusivewhat i know, is that no one i know has itmy fathers arms around my mothers neckfruit too ripe to eat, a door half way openwhen your name is a just a hand i can never holdeverything i have ever believed in, becomes magic.i think of lovers as trees, growing to andfrom one another searching for the same light,my mothers laughter in a dark room,a photograph greying under my touch,this is all i know how to do, carry loss around untili begin to resemble every bad memory,every terrible fear,every nightmare anyone has ever had.i ask did you ever love me?you say of course, of course so quicklythat you sound like someone elsei ask are you made of steel? are you made of iron?you cry on the phone, my stomach hurtsi let you leave, i need someone who knows how to stay.”

“you must wear it like she wears disappointment on her faceyou must hide the surprise of tasting other men on your lipsyour mother is a woman and women like her cannot be contained.you find the black tube inside her beauty case, where she keepsyour fathers old prison letters,you desperately want to look like herfilm star beauty, you hold your hand against your throatyour mother was most beautiful when sprawled out on the floorhalf naked and bleeding.you go to the bathroom to apply the lipstick,somewhere no one can find youyour teeth look brittle against the deep red slicknessyou smile like an infant, your mouth is a woundyou look nothing like your motheryou look everything like your mother.you call your ex boyfriend, sit on the toilet seat and listen tothe phone ring, when he picks up you say his name slowhe says i thought i told you to stop calling meyou lick your lips, you taste like years of being alone.”

“you were like an ulcer on the inside of my cheek that my tongue could not stop touching.loving you was like watching a stranger clean a week old wound; i felt sick, but i wanted more.”