Says I’m not picky. Says I’ll eat just about anything Except olives and how they remind him of a vulgar entrance. How you tell me I am trying to protect My body. How I allow you to take the power from My sweet fingertips. I am up in the middle of the Night swallowing a jar of olives and Burning the tips of each finger that told you You deserve the world, sweetheart. You bitter kiss. I imagine pouring vinegar all over the diagnosis. I imagine my spit on the ground instead of Your mouth. I wanted to shout. Olives are required to endure a curing process Before they can enter the body. To be taken in raw. To taste the bitter core. To have given you exactly what you wanted. Plopped into the mouth with no after- Thought. Without desire, but hunger All of that hunger. There are two methods to the curing process. I have one. Only one. Always one. Says he’s not picky. Says his body isn’t ready. I am just trying to protect my body, But I am not ready to rest in a layer of salt You have laid out for me.
Anthony Aguero is a queer writer in Los Angeles, CA. His work has appeared, or will appear, in the Bangalore Review, 2River View, The Acentos Review, The Temz Review, Rhino Poetry, Cathexis Northwest Press, 14 Poems, and others. His Twitter and Instagram can be followed @ shesnotinsorry.