The baby died two days after birth.
These green tomatoes will never ripen, Jessica.
CT scan’s topography, fingerprint maps.
Onion rings. Here in the apple’s star core
the heart excised, sliced.
Love turns all at once – milk in a thunderstorm,
throat-choking vinegar. The salty crystals
of your kiss, sugar-aching.
Simmer gently, until you can’t tell things apart –
everything’s the same fucking metaphor.