Simon Perchik 1

You darken each slice as if it is the flour

that has forgotten where in the oven

you learned to first go mad, alone


the way each moon before breaking open

lets you have one last look

mixed with smoke to make amber


then harden in the̶ you eat

crust that's been reheated, bite

into the night sky where your teeth


come back to life, catch fire

stripping your lips to the bone

no longer soft, swollen from kisses


̶ burnt bread̶ you feed on stone

while it's coming apart from the silence inside

̶ by the mouthful, what once was a love song.


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