She bites hard on the peel
And the bitter juices flood her mouth.
Tastes of anguish and disgust
Tap-dance on her palate
Twisting her face like a towel
that needs to be wrung dry.
The bitterness blocks her brain,
entertaining ideas of malice.
It turns yellow and curdles
like sour milk in the Sahara heat.
It oozes down to her heart
To consume the essence freely flowing.
It clamps on, and bleeds the heart,
Injecting its own poison in the core.
Her body shrinks
Her love is sucked dry,
Until she is the colour of a buttercup,
Waiting to be squeezed onto the rotting fish she calls her own.
An original poem by Amy Chow.
