Take off that mask, I want to see your teeth.
Are they yellowed? Is that normal for you?
I want to see the hooks in your mouth.
I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.
See? I have both hooks and teeth. Watch I’ll
bare them for you in this library of peach pits,
if the train comes before we’re done
do you think we get the tickets for free?

My neighbor, Mr. Calvert will
tear up my flower garden if I don’t get home before
dark. He hates that I washed ashore with orphaned
lilies one day. He claims that I stole them
from Cetus, but I don’t know how to explain
that it’s unfair that you don’t get to see
the petals dancing in surging water. I want
you to see what I mean when I say
I take pictures at night. After
I’ve turned out all my lights and the wall
transforms and becomes like a tongue
rough, smooth, then savage.

I want you to see the dreams you tell me about while
you’re still asleep — where the lily petals dissolve into
blurred shades of fruit basket colors.

Bryce Delaney Walls is a nonbinary poet from South Bend, Indiana. They work as an editor for Wolfson Press. Their work has appeared in The Free Library of the Internet Void, On-the-High Literary Journal, and forthcoming in LEON Literary Review. You can find them on twitter @BryceDelaney_.