I sit with my head held in a Sweetheart straw
at the bottom of a wax-painted cup
sustained only by the puffs of your fetid breath
and the putrid particles that slide my way
aided by the mucus that encases them
Then you suck, tugging at my body
you stretch me toward your gullet
Ah, the suck, the slurp, the pull as you sip my flavor
up, up, up—
—my head is so close to your mouth
then you blow and blow till I’m back at the bottom
hot and bothered you cleanse me
in a shower of steaming spittle
