An overeaten white hmm shy
Of ripe, full of puss, hairless. 
The nasality echoes lodgers,
Mucus-hardened. Shopping
For apple pie. Fair warning:
“Best before hygiene enters
The conversation”. Trophies
For the mess hall, calculator
Boobs for the teenager. Bar
None, less is more or less
More than least of all: taste. 

I have tears inside my happiness

And like a window open to traffic,

Exhaust. I know that byproducts

Happen, that costs always occur.

The wind in my hair isn’t free but

How much it feels unborrowed. Me

And that expensive velocity, we

Are good for journeys but journeys

Aren’t good for ever. I would brake

My appetite to thin out into escape

If there wasn’t still gas in the tank.