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The Morning After

By Becca Fang


My toothpaste gushes pink blood over your gums, synthetic strawberries


snuggling into craters of tongue. A dying snake slithers in my lungs, but I can’t


seem to tempt you from my sink. Quick. Tilt your chin so I can fill you


with Listerine. Give me the bristles to agitate your grin. Open wide


and I’ll place my last stick of spearmint gum inside. All you have to do


is chew. If you promise not to swallow,

I won’t spend seven years in you.

 
"This poem explores the little things we sacrifice to please or impress the people we are intimate with, to the detriment of ourselves."

- Becca Fang

 

About the poet:

Becca Fang is a poet and writer and features in Erato Magazine's second issue, Sacrifice.

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