Breakfast

I

I was an ear stuck on a wall,
a fly inside an eye,
my lips were stitched to my head,
and my tongue was tied around my neck.
We sat across the table
throwing darts at one another.
The fire burning in the furnace
heating our glances of unawareness.
You never said a word or two,

just had a thought that stuck like glue.
A cryonic chrysalis never to bloom.

 

II


Like a cartoon villain, I combusted out of the room,
while you went outside to fetch some coal
prosaically opening the door to a celestial pole
exhibiting hands so blue, but mine were too.
I was in parts, from toe to head
and spread like jam on toast or bread.

 

III


I found little corners to hide my secret
they were so dark I hardly went to visit.
This made you imagine I hardly existed
and every morning I would wake up,
make breakfast,
and spread some jam on toast or bread.