By Benedetta Mancusi

A bath of black tea
Used tea bags between my fingers
The rash that won’t go away
I am my own dried skin
Smothered in calendula
Flower’s spit and semen
Every word that ends in -a
Sorella, mamma
I thought i had both
now neither
I thought I was both
no, but, in truth
I have an identical twin
She’s blonde tiny
I am tall mediterranean
carbs and big tits
squeezed in dresses that never fit
We’re both dead
But I can walk
Down a corridor,
Tap the oyster
To get to the morgue
my final bed? My new house?
This woman leads the way
She’s kind
Beaked
A more attractive Charon
Corporate and marketing and pr professional
She’s all the words that don’t end in -a
I tell her to hurry
Before I become
Black tea
Soon There will be a flood
I tell her
She don’t mind
Soon my skin will be dried leaves
and spit and pollen and gluten free breadcrumbs
I thought they might lead me back home
To you
but maybe the key to not being lost
was always the gluten
We get there
Eternal bed
A ravine
My beautiful Charon smiles
My mouth is full of straw
I ask her
If she’s ever given a blowie to a scarecrow
I am a house of crumbs
bones
And stomach-aches
This tea tastes like sap
don’t read Donna Tartt before falling asleep