heet.

in the dim circular light of the kitchen, like beneath the warmth of mother's skirt or the lovable oddity of wearing a drum on the crown of your head gingerly seconds before it careened off your chin, hijacking your neck and crashing into hollow noises at foot's level

she bit into the rib of the edamame, its cousin's swooping shells of dead green skins brimming in the plastic bowl
the delicate thread of a membrane cupped and oozed on the hitch of her teeth
and the birth of a moist silken bud alive in its heat