your name

when I see

those four letters 

assembled on a page

even if belonging

to another

the punch will

run rings round 

my stomach

all day

the long vowel-

i-

goes on into

infinity

a black-board screech

of perfection

scraping at the back

of the throat

the second syllable

short and sweet

is satisfying

on the tongue

like sandpaper

a spiky afterthought 

that lingers 

in every bite

said quickly

it is a whispering 

snake

slowed down

it is the wind moaning

through the trees

I think I’ve heard it

too much

said it too often

filled pages with its

spidery limbs

and as I write

these words now

my ears are ringing

to muffle the

persistent beat

it drums

against my skin