Still Life with Open Mouth

In the sink:

a spoon,

a tooth,

three cherries bleeding out.

The faucet drips like it's thinking.

Outside, the moon

is peeling itself.

I try to eat.

The bread sours mid-chew.

Milk watches me curdle.

On the table,

your note curls at the edges—

paper recoiling

from the weight of what it said.

The chair across from me

won’t stop

holding your shape.