Spaghetti

Every morning,
I wake tangled in my blankets,
Boiled spaghetti strands cooling to knotted, morning stiffness.
Every morning,
I twist into a wheel,
Humming Beethoven under my breath and
Tying myself into a bow.
Tomato sauce stomachaches stilled
By loudly laughtering bareness,
Clothes matching the walls of my bedroom but
I am in the kitchen cooking myself into spirals
In arches on the tiles.
I am over sausage thighs –
Meat held suffocating in tight skin –
Let my legs be legs and
Muscle be muscle.
Cooking mussels on the stovetop but
My vulva is not an oyster.
It is a spaghetti strand,
Wrung in around itself and
Knotting my fingertips inside.
After all, I must cook the spaghetti,
Heat up the water,
Feed the saucepan seasalt,
Screaming in a simmer and
I am screaming in a simmer
On the tile
With spaghetti strand hands tied
Into a bow –
The water is boiling, hungry for some spaghetti,
I am catching my breath flatly
On the tile.

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